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By 

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X&usic House, 23 Hflonroe Ave., DETROIT, IWIGH. 











































































4 
























- 


























































- 


















. 












MARFA 


A Story of the 

Opium Smugglers 

OF THE 


St. Clair River. 



MRS. H. T. HOLLANDS. 


DETROIT : 

1889. 

•9 





■ -* 










Copyrighted, 1889 , 

BY 

MRS. H. T. HOLLANDS. 



/ 

CONTENTS. 


A Celestial Visitor 7 

Mumsy’s Victory 13 

A Midnight Meeting 19 

The Mauvais Star 24 

Marfa 31 

Rebelling Against Fate 37 

A Family Skeleton 46 

In the Path of Danger 53 

The Storm 58 

The Ghost 63 

Roe Mason’s Arrival 69 

The Elusive Face 73 

Kismet . 80 

Parted 91 

The Smugglers. 96 

In The Cove 107 

The Capture 113 

The Letter 121 

Revenge *3° 

Girlie 139 
































CHAPTER I. 


A CELESTIAL VISITOR. 


Old Jake was singing at the top of his voice: 

“Way down upon de Suannee riber, 

Far, far away, 

Dar’s where my heart am turnin’ ebber, 

Dar’s where de ole folks stay. 

All de world ’ ’ 

Just then his wife called to him: “Here, you 
Jake! you see dat wood-pile? Now you jes stop 
dat singin’ an’ chop me sum wood ! I’se gwine make 
hoe-cake for supper.” 

“ Hoe-cake, Mumsy, how you come tink o’ hoe- 
cake? Dat ar waters my mouf. I’se gwine tink 
I’se down in ole Wirginny when I eats dat hoe- 
cake.” 

“Doan let me heah no moah. You jes git out 
now, an’ chop dat wood. ’Pears like you don’ do 
nuffin now days ’cept loaf roun’ an’ sing dem ole 
plantation songs. You tink I’se gwine keep a lazy 
good-for-nuffin like you, an’ chop my own wood ? ” 

“ Hoi’ on, ole woman, hoi’ on, I’se gwine right 
away now;” and he dodged around the corner, 
singing as he went. 

Old Mumsy lifted a corner of her blue check 

7 


8 


MARFA. 


apron, and brushed some imaginary dust from the 
well scoured table, on which she placed the neces- 
sary ingredients and began to stir the hoe-cake ; 
stopping now and then to listen for the sound of the 
axe in the back yard. 

Chuck, chuck — she heard it for a short time, and 
then all was still. She shook her head ominously. 

“Dat no ’count loafer ’s lazin’ agin. Jes let him 
wait till I gits my hans outen dis muss. I’se gwine 
make him stan’ roun’.” 

Before she could execute her threat, Jake came 
staggering in with a scanty armful of wood, which 
he dropped into the wood-box with a deep-drawn 
sigh of simulated weariness. 

“ Dar, Mumsy, now you bake you’ hoe-cake all 
right. I’se gwine out an’ look aroun’; I hearn 
strange soun’s jes now. Pears like dey come from 
de ole elm tree down dere by de hen coop, Sumfin* 
after dem young chickens, I’se afeard.” 

“O, go ’long now; dat’s only make believe, so’s 
you gits down dat ole musket, den you goes off 
coon huntin’ agin, ’stead o’ hoein’ dem taters,” 

“No, Mumsy — hones’ truf dis time; you come 
hark yousef.” 

Mumsy patted the hoe-cake with the big iron 
spoon, set it down before the fire, then washed her 
hands, and taking the coarse gray towel, followed 
Jake, drying them as she walked along. 

“You heah dat, Mumsy?” Jake whispered, as 


A CELESTIAL VISITOR. 


9 


he dodged behind a tree, and covered his eyes with 
his trembling hands. a You tink coon make dat 
soun’.” 

“ Hush up,” she said, as a low, wailing sound 
reached them. She cautiously walked along, a few 
steps at a time, slower and slower, as she drew near 
the spot from which the sound seemed to come. 

Jake in the meantime trembled behind the tree, 
occasionally venturing a peep between his fingers. 

At last Mumsy stood still and beckoned to him. 
Past experience warned him of the danger of dis- 
obedience. He left his hiding place and slowly 
approached her, 

“ Look a dar Jake/’ she said, pointing to a white 
bundle under the tree. 

“Fo’ de Lawd’s sake, Mumsy, what am it?” 

“Dat’s jes what I’se gwine ter see,” she said 
valiantly. 

Stooping down, she carefully examined the bun- 
dle, then jumped backward, exclaiming, “ Laws a 
massa Jake, if ’taint an angel.” 

“I’se mighty shuah dat am an angel’s face 
Mumsy, but I doan see no wings,” 

“ Hush up now, I’se gwine ter Vestigate,” and 
taking the bundle in her great motherly arms, she 
unbuttoned the white wool cloak, and threw back 
the silk lined hood. 

What a vision met their wondering gaze ! 

Great expressive brown eyes looked out from a 


IO 


MARFA. 


tear-stained face, and from the tiny mouth a pitiful 
cry escaped. A damp mass of golden brown hair 
formed a frame for the pretty picture. 

Mumsy’s maternal instinct was equal to the 
occasion, She drew the child to her ample bosom, 
and crooned over it in a motherly way, until an 
occasional sob was all that told of the infantile 
storm. 

Meantime Jake stood by the tree, with clasped 
hands, and closed eyes turned heavenward praying 
aloud. 

“ Lawd a’mighty, jes lis’en to dis poah sinnah 
fo’ a minnit. You’s sent dis little angel straight 
down from Hebben; now jes help ole Jake a bit, an 
he’s gwine gib you his promis’ — pon honah — he’s 
gwine take good care of it, an keep it pure an’ 
pritty, jes like ’tis now, till de angel ob def comes 
to fotch it home agin/ Amen.” 

Mumsy returned to the cabin, with the little 
strayling held closely in her arms, and Jake at her 
heels. 

As they drew near the door, two or three long 
gaunt dogs came yelping and sniffing around them, 
as if aware that something unusual had happened. 

“ Git down you! Linkum, Sherman, Dixie,” 
said Mumsy. “Jake, you jes gwine shet up dem 
noisy houns. Dey’s shuah to make dis honey cry 
agin.” 

Jake trudged off at Mumsy’s bidding, while she 


A CELESTIAL VISITOR. 


II 


entered the cabin and carefully laid the little visitor 
on the bed. 

The old rocking chair, with the help of pillows 
and cushions, was soon converted into a comfortable 
cradle. 

When Mumsy removed the cloak, and lifted the 
sleeping child into the chair, a piece of paper awk- 
wardly folded into the form of a letter, fell to the 
floor. 

She picked it up and spreading it out on her 
broad hand, gazed curiously on the sprawling char- 
acters which covered it. 

“ Look a heah Jake,” said she, as he entered the 
door with the scared look still on his face, “Ise 
mos shuah dat dar writin’ nevah come from Heben.” 

“ Be keerful Mumsy — be keerful. Doan’ say 
dat. How come you forgit so soon.? Doan’ you 
know how de preacher tol’ us how de Lawd’s gwine 
do his own work in jes his own way? Spec like he 
knows what He’s doin’ when he sen’ dat writin.” 

Mumsy, rather taken back by Jake’s theology, 
slipped the paper in her pocket without a word. 

She tucked the baby snugly in the chair, and 
took a peep at the hoe-cake, which had been forgot- 
ten during the excitement. 

“ Heah you Jake,” she said in a softened voice, 
“no moah loafin’ now sah. Sot down heah now an’ 
rock dis baby, while Ise gwine git de suppa.” 


12 


MARFA. 


Jake, delighted with the proposed task, obeyed 
willingly. 

His musical powers were rather unusual. A 
pleasing contralto voice was contrasted with low 
chest tones, which formed a bass accompaniment to 
his plantation melodies and hymns. 

With a trembling voice he sang as he rocked 
the old chair to and fro: 

Bye o baby sleep, o 

Shet you little peep, o 

Doan you wake till mawnin 

, ’Till de sun shines high. 

Button up you eyes now ; 

Baby mus’nt cry now ; 

Fly away to dream-land, 

Bye, o baby, bye. 


CHAPTER II. 


mumsy’s victory. 

Several years previous to the incidents just 
recorded, Jake and Mumsy were slaves on a large 
plantation in Virginia. 

During the unsettled condition of the country at 
that time they had joined the “ranks of the run- 
aways,” and were assisted in their flight to freedom 
by the managers of the “ underground system,” as 
it was called. 

When the war was ended, and they had gradu- 
ally acquired the knowledge of their safety in free- 
dom, they ventured back to the u States ” again. 

They found an empty cabin in the center of a 
maple grove a short distance from the river shore. 
They took possession of it and had called it their 
home for many years. 

Near the cabin, in the center of a cleared spot, 
and surrounded by the ancient trees of the grove, 
was an unfinished ruinous old house, ivy-draped and 
weather-stained. 

Mark Payne, the owner of this property, was 
young and handsome, rich and talented; a rare and 
happy combination. 


13 


H 


MARFA. 


Socially, the world held few attractions for him. 
As a student and traveler he was known to his 
many friends. 

He had inherited the property as we- now find it, 
a many-gabled, queer looking structure with but 
one habitable room. 

This was in the upper story, and had an outlook 
from a dormer window in one of the gables over a 
great stretch of river. 

The walls were lined with books, and the furni- 
ture was an odd medley of bric-a-brac and curios 
which the owner had collected during his travels. 

To this quiet spot he also brought his literary 
treasures and arranged them to his own satisfaction, 
before offering them to the great reading world. 

It was duri'ng one of his trips abroad that 
strange stories began to circulate through the 
neighborhood concerning the old house. 

Dark forms were seen dodging among the trees 
near the door. Lights flashed through the cracks 
between the weather-beaten boards that formed the 
sides of the building, and angry voices were heard 
by the belated farmers on their way home from the 
county seat. 

Jake and Mumsy, when questioned in regard to 
these strange doings, were sullenly silent. 

Their reticence on the subject soon placed them 
under the cloud of suspicion. This, together with 
the race prejudice — far more wide-spread then than 


mumsy’s victory. 


*5 


now — soon forced them to their position as outcasts ; 
consequently they held undisputed possession of the 
child two or three months before it was seen by 
their neighbors. 

She was a bright little creature and soon grew 
contented and happy in her new home. Under 
Mumsy’s careful supervision, Jake held the position 
of chief nurse. 

How gloriously bright the world seemed now to 
the poor fellow. Mumsy’s threats and scoldings 
fell on a deaf ear, when with his charge in his arms, 
or on his shoulder, he wandered through the grove, 
or paced the sandy beach, talking and singing to 
the “ little angel,” as he called her. 

As is often the case, there had been many dis- 
putes over the naming of the child. 

Jake pleaded and Mumsy scolded. 

“ I know ” he said “ dey’s bof scripter names, 
but Mary seems smoover like, an’ more fit for dis 
pritty angel.” 

But Mumsy never yielded a point, when Jake 
was her opponent, and the child was called “ Marfa.” 

Jake still held the idea that she had been sent 
from Heaven, and imagined he could sometimes see 
in her large dreamy eyes, a reflection of the bright 
home from whence she came. 

One day, while he was sitting on a rude seat, 
near the road that divided the grove in two sections 


1 6 


MARFA. 


and singing in his peculiar way, a passer-by quest- 
ioned him in regard to the child. 

Jake was frightened. He made no reply, but 
folding his long arms around his treasure, he drew 
her closer to his breast, as if to shield her from some 
threatened danger, and walked hurriedly to the 
cabin. 

The next day a village officer rapped at the low 
door. 

Mumsy caught a glimpse of his badge through 
an open window. A few low spoken words, and 
quick movements, and Jake with the child in his 
arms, was secreted in the little bed-room. 

Then she opened the door and stepped on the 
threshold. By a careful arrangement of her skirts 
and elbows she completely shut out a view of the 
interior from the officer. A series of low growls 
greeted him from the inside of the cabin, which 
caused him to step back a pace or two before he 
spoke. 

“Good mawnin, sah,” said Mumsy, an ominous 
glitter brightening her eye. 

“ Good morning, good morning, my good 
woman,” and the speaker rubbed his hands briskly 
together, “ how are all the folks to-day?” 

“Jake an’ me’s tolable, thankee.” 

“ That’s good. And how is the baby?” 

“Baby! Sho! Go ’long now. No pickanin- 
nies roun’ dis place fo’ shuah.” 


mumsy’s victory. 


x 7 


“ You must have company then,” and the speaker 
stretched out his neck, and made an effort to get a 
view of the interior of the cabin. But Mumsy 
raised her shoulders, and spread her elbows until 
she seemed to fill the entire opening, 

“ Company,” she answered scornfully; “ whose 
gwine company in dis yeah cabin? ’Pears like you’s 
mighty ’quisitive to-day.” 

The smiling face of the visitor gradually length- 
ened, and a sense of the ridiculousness of the situa- 
tion flashed through his mind. 

He had been chosen by the village officers to 
solve the mystery which surrounded the little cabin 
in the grove, and he decided to do his duty, however 
unpleasant it might be. Assuming a stern voice, he 
said, u Look here my good woman, I’ve heard 
enough of your nonsense. You have a white child 
in your possession. You must tell me how it came 
here, or I shall be obliged to take it with me.” 

u Sho ! now. Whose gwine make me talk les en 
Ise a min’ to? ” asked Mumsy. “ Sposen is a white 
chile roun’ heah, what bizness dat o’ yourn? Aint 
you got white chile enuff? I min’ I see ten or a 
dozen swarmin’ roun’ your place tudder day.” 

“ That’s nothing to do with this affair,” said he 
impatiently. “ Bring that young one out here, and 
save yourself further trouble,” 

“Furder trubble!” shrieked Mumsy, now thor- 


i8 


MARFA. 


oughly aroused, “ I make you furder trubble. Heah 
you ! Linkum ! Sherman ! Dixie ! ” 

She stepped out of the doorway, as the troop of 
gaunt hounds came rushing through. 

Her fat sides shook with laughter as she watched 
the retreating form of the officer, dodging among 
the trees, in his frantic efforts ’to reach his carriage 
and escape the dogs. 

“ I spec he git trubble ’nuff dis time,” she said 
wiping the tears from her eyes with her apron. “ De 
no ’count low lived white trash.” 

She watched him until she saw him climb into 
his carriage and drive toward the village. Then 
she called the dogs and entered the cabin. Jake, 
with the child in his arms, and trembling with fear, 
was peeping through a crack in the bedroom door. 

“ Heah you,” she said, “ come outen dat now, 
an’ put dat dar chile in de cheer. Spec like we 
aint gwine be boddered agin wiv dat sort o’ com- 
pany,” 


CHAPTER III. 


A MIDNIGHT MEETING. 

The feu follet 
The spectral ray 

Floats on the night wind’s breath. 

Now near — now far — 

The ghostly star, 

Lures on, and on, to death! 

The fascination that surrounds the thought of 
smuggling, like the feu follet of early days, has 
lured many good people to their ruin. 

The transportation of contraband goods u over 
the line,” is a world-wide custom, and the St. Clair 
river is particularly favorable for such unlawful 
transactions. For more than twenty-five miles it 
stretches along, wide and deep, forming a grand 
watery highway, over which many proscribed car- 
goes have been conveyed, while the honest officials 
were wrapped in blankets and dreams. 

It was a dark moonless night. The west wind 
bent the trees in the grove, until they writhed and 
creaked. 

The deep water sent out a low, sullen roar, and 
the long, white crested waves rolled and tumbled 
over each other, in their mad race to the sandy 
beach. i 9 


20 


MARFA. 


The old house in the grove was wrapped in 
gloomy shadows, through which silent forms moved 
cautiously toward the open door. They went 
through, the door was closed, and a soft click told 
that the key was turned. 

r A light flickered for a moment and then burned 
clear and bright, revealing four queer looking figures, 
wearing long yellow tarpaulin cloaks, with peaked 
hoods, drawn over their heads and partly concealing 
their faces. 

When these were removed, old Jake — with a 
few more wrinkles on his honest face than when we 
saw him last — stood among them. 

Near him was the leader of the little band — a 
picturesque and uncommon character, who deserves 
a description. A bent figure with a brown wizened 
face, — a perfect mass of wrinkles, — which moved 
up and down continually, as he mumbled the nar- 
cotic hillekenic with his toothless gums. His heavy 
gray eye brows stood out at right angles, with his 
face, and from under them peered a pair of shining 
black eyes. 

He was known to his companions and his little 
world of acquaintances as French Joe. He was a 
genuine indigene; a fair specimen of the original 
habitant, superstitious, fun-loving, and reckless. 

The other half of the quartette were overgrown 
boys, awkward specimens of the same specie, who 


A MIDNIGHT MEETING. 


21 


followed Joe’s advice and obeyed his commands 
with a blind faith in his superior sagacity. 

When all were seated on the rough bench that 
reached across one side of the room, with the lan- 
tern on the floor near them, Joe drew a tin tobacco 
box from his pocket, and pressing a spring, the lid 
flew open with a snap. When all had been served 
liberally he returned it to his pocket and said : 

“ Now, boys, I wanto tol you sumting. When I 
go on de town de udder day — I tink dat’s ’bout de 
five of June — I hear sumting dat makes me mad. 
Dat blaggard — Max Le Blanc — he stan’ on a beeg 
crowd, near de pos’ offeece, an’ talk. I go back 
leetle way, where he don’ see me, den I leesten. 
Now what you tink he say? He tol how two, tree 
night before he go feeshin. He go in his skiff, wid 
plenty pitch pine all blazin’ in his jack. He no 
ketch much feesh, so he let his boat float down de 
reever. He tink mebby he’s gon fin’ better place. 

“Bime by, he say he hear, way off, near de udder 
shore, sum soun’ like de oar — dip, dip — in de 
water. He set still behin’ his light an watch. De 
blaze make long streak on de water, like de day. 
Bime by he see a boat cross dat streak, an’ make for 
dis side, 

“ He turn his jack, an’ spill his fire in de water. 
When all come dark, den he foller dat boat. He 
see it make for de cove, so he make for de cove. 
When he come near, he hear like de clink of chain. 


22 


MARFA, 


He hurry up, an’ when he get dere he see noting, 
only Jake’s boat wid de chain woun’ roun’ de tree. 
He call two, tree time — nobody speak — den he go 
home. 

“Now, boys, who make fool of heemself like 
dat? Who make de boat go ~on dat light? Dat 
you, Jake?” 

“ No, Massa Joe. I’se dun shuah I ain’t gwine 
do like dat. ’Twan’t me. Hones’ truf.” 

“ Dat you, Danyell? You go on dat boat when 
I don’t tol you?” 

Dan looked at his companion, and then at Joe, 
but remained silent. 

“What for you no speak?” said Joe, raising his 
voice as he became more excited. 

“ Ask Tom,” was the reply in a low tone. 

“Tomaw, dat you go on dat boat?” 

But Tom’s courage failed him and he trembled in 
silence. 

Joe, becoming thoroughly angry at their be- 
havior, shook his fist in their frightened faces and 
said: 

“ Sacre! if you no speak, I trash you.” 

“Wait one meenit, Joe; I tol you all about it,” 
said Dan, anxious to escape Joe’s wrath. “ Tom an’ 
me — we go on dat boat. We cross over to hook 
sum harves’ apples. We see dat light way up de 
reever. We tink we make de cove in de dark, but 
de light float down wid de current, an ketch us. 


A MIDNIGHT MEETING. 


2 3 


Now, what we can do? We row queek — jump on 
de shore, an make fas’ de boat. Den we hide in de 
bush. When we hear Le Blanc call, we keep still. 
Den he go off. Dat’s de fac’, Joe.” 

While Joe listened, the angry look on his face 
gradually subsided, and when the story was finished 
he patted the boys on the shoulder and said: 

“ Nevaire min’, boys, dis time; but hark what I 
tol you now, be careful — all de time be careful. 

“ Now, I tol you nudder ting. I git word last 
night. I no tol you how I git it. Leave dat to me ; 
it’s all right. Some more de stuff gon be ober de 
reever to-night. Now make ready. We gon to 
fetch it. Jake, you stay on de cove wid de lantern. 
Danyell, Tomaw, you come wid me.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE MAUVAIS STAR. 

The cove was a short, deep cut that intersected 
the grove; one of the many branches of various 
lengths whose dark colored waters mingle with the 
pure blue of the St. Clair. 

A deep, dark hedge of alders and willows 
bordered it, and formed an arch over the pretty 
creek that tumbled among the stones at the bottom. 

When they arrived at the boat, Joe gave his 
orders in a low voice. 

“Now Jake — you gon to keep de lantern dark, 
till you hear de town clock strike twelve. Den you 
look up de reever an’ down. When you hear 
noting, you strike de light and swing him tree time 
roun’. Den you blow him out. We know by dat 
you mean everyting’s all right. Den we start. 
Now Danyell, Tomaw, come wid me.” 

He unfastened the boat and stepped in, followed 
by the two youths. 

The boat shot out from the shadows of the 
willows, and under the propelling power of two pair 
of oars, was soon dancing on the waves. 

A large steamer was bearing down upon them 

24 












The Grove 
























THE MAUVAIS STAR. 27 

from the north, while a noisy little tug was just 
rounding the point below them. 

Not a word was spoken, until the sand and 
gravel of the Canadian beach, grated on the bottom 
of the boat. 

Then, after a whispered consultation, Joe 
climbed out and disappeared in the darkness, while 
the two boys remained in the boat. 

In about half an hour he returned, carrying a 
square parcel, which he placed under the seat. 

“You hear de bell, boys?” he asked. 

“No,” said Dan, “we no hear de bell, — we no 
see de light, — but look Joe! Wat you call dat? 
Look out in de west. He look like a streak of 
fire.” 

Joe threw back his head and looked for a short 
time, before he spoke. 

Across the river, just above the dark line where 
the tree tops met the western sky, was the blazing 
star, with his long fiery tail spread out like a fan. 

“Dat,” said he, at last lowering his head, “ dat’s 
de mauvais — de bad star. You never hearde story 
’bout dat?” 

“ No,” said Dan, “ I never hear it. Tol us Joe 
while we wait.” 

“All right,” said he, “I tol you de story like me 
fader tol me long time ago, when I was leetle 
gar con. 


28 


MARFA. 


“ He say de sun an’ moon am foder an’ mudder 
to de star. De star cheeldren fear de fader, he so 
beeg, an’ shine so bright. When he wake up an’ 
walk on de sky, an’ make all de light, den de star 
cheeldren stay close on de shade wid de mudder. 

“One time one leetle star, he tink it’s ’bout time 
he shake de mudder, an’ do like de fader do. Boys 
git dat way sometime. Hey,Tomaw? So he come 
out an’ slide along behin’ de fader sun, an’ make up 
hes min’ he’s gon have a good time. 

“ But bimeby de fader sun turn roun’ an’ see him. 
Den hees beeg eye come like fire, he so mad, an’ de 
spark fly an’ light on dat poor leetle star an’ set 
him all in a blaze. 

“He fly an’ fly to git far away from de fader sun, 
an’ de blaze stretch out long way behin’ him. 

“ Ever since dat day, he fly an’ fly, all de time; 
sometime far off in de dark, den again he git home- 
sick, an’ come near de mudder moon an’ de star 
cheeldren; but he never look on his fader’s face 
agin.” 

The boys’ eyes wandered from Joe’s face to the 
star, and back again, until the story was finished. 

Then they took their places in the boat, ready to 
start at the first flash of the signal light. 

The broad river hurried on, as if anxious to 
mix its waters with the parent sea. 

Here and there a frisky fish would throw himself 


THE MAUVAIS STAR, 29 

bodily from the water, and disappear again with a 
splash. 

A large schooner was gliding along with its 
great snowy sails spread out to catch the breeze, as 
it tacked and turned in its zig-zag course, up the 
river. An occasional whistle in the distance 
announced the approach of a steamer from the great 
city. 

Sounds multiply and time lags in the stillness of 
the night, and an uneasy feeling began to creep 
through the minds of the watchers. 

Joe paced back and forth on the beach, mutter- 
ing to himself. At length he stopped in front of the 
boat and said: 

“Boys, wat you tink? May be ole Jake’s gon 
back on us to-night. Hey! Danyell?” 

“No! no! Joe. Ole Jake’s all right,” said Dan, 
emphatically. “ He know what for he don’ make 
de light. May be he go up on de grove an’ see dat 
little gal, den he no hear de bell’’ 

“ May be,” said Joe, shaking his head. “ He 
make fool of himself ’bout dat little gal. When he 
come by her, he forgit all ’bout his beezness; den 
when he leave her, he talk ’bout her all de time. I 
gon tol him he mus’ ten’ his beezness better.” 

Just at this point in Joe’s grumbling, the distant 
bell rang out twelve strokes for midnight. 

As the echoes of the last tone died away, three 


3 ° 


MARFA. 


curved flashes of light were seen on the opposite 
shore. 

“ Now Joe, wat you tink ’bout Jake?” said Dan, 
as they launched the boat and started on the return 
trip. 

“ I tink I make meestake dat time, Danyell.” 


CHAPTER V. 


MARFA. 

A coarse plaid shawl was spread out on the 
grass, in a little alcove formed by a cluster of blos- 
soming thorn bushes, and red fruited sumac. 

A slender girl was seated on the shawl with an 
open book before her. 

The bushes cast their wealth of fragrant petals 
over and around her. They lodged in her hair and 
eyelashes, and she brushed them impatiently aside. 

The whole grove swarmed with flitting song- 
sters, who poured out their sweetest music and 
fairly shook with an overplus of happiness, all un- 
heeded by the young reader. 

A gaunt, homely dog sat on his haunches beside 
her, looking wistfully into her face and occasionally 
placing his rough paw on her hand to attract her 
attention. 

Failing in this, he gave a dissatisfied grunt as he 
sank down by her side and was soon growling and 
twitching in dreamland. 

A little tug, pulling against the current and 
dragging its load of three or four heavily laden 
barges, blew its piercing whistle when just opposite 
31 


3 2 


MARFA. 


her. She clapped her hands over her ears without 
raising her eyes from the book. 

Leaf after leaf was turned, until a blank page 
stared her in the face. 

She was still struggling in the effort to return to 
a consciousness of her identity, when a familiar voice 
sounded in her ear. 

“ Marfa, don’ you know Master Payne’s waitin’ 
fer you. He’s gwine tol you yer lesson now. Come, 
hurry up honey. Come quick.” 

Years have passed since we saw Mumsy — years 
that have been devoted to the faithful care of the 
little stranger who came so mysteriously into her 
humble home. 

Constant association with innocent childhood 
had softened her rough nature, as well as her voice. 
Her broad face beamed with affection, as she placed 
her hand on the bowed head. 

Marfa closed the book and gazed at her in a 
dreamy way, as if her thoughts were still between 
the covers. 

Then she slowly arose to her feet, and placing 
her hand in the large black palm reached out toward 
her, they went together up the hill, the dog follow- 
ing them. 

When Mumsy reached the old house with her 
charge, she climbed the rickety stairs that led to 
the library in the second story. 


MARFA. 33 

Here she softly rapped and the door was imme- 
diately opened as if she had been expected. 

u Heah Master Payne, I foun’ her at las’. She 
do git dat stupid like when she hides away by her. 
sef wiv one of yer books, dat I mos’ has ter put my 
han’ on her, ’fore I makes ’er hear.” 

He quietly smiled when he saw the girl, and 
taking her by the hand, led her to a pretty chair 
that stood near a low desk b}' the window, then 
promising to accompany her home when the lessons 
were done, he dismissed Mumsy and closed the 
door. 

It was during one of Mark Payne’s visits to his 
home in the grove, that he first saw the child. 

It was several years previous to this time, when, 
wandering among the trees one day, he heard voices 
in conversation. Pausing for a moment he became 
interested. 

Through an opening in the bushes, he saw Jake 
standing in the center of a cleared space, holding 
the child by the hand. At their feet, stretched out 
on the grass, was a beautiful fawn gasping for 
breath. The blood was slowly oozing from a small 
hole in its side. Its great expressive eyes, over 
which the filmy glaze of death was slowly settling, 
were fixed upon the child. 

She threw herself upon the grass beside it, and 
wound her arms around its neck. 


34 


MARFA. 


u O Mino,” she said, “who hurted you? Uncle 
Jake come and fix him. He’s all tored.” 

She took the innocent face between her hands 
and looked into the fast "dimming eyes; then she 
stroked the soft ears, and smoothed out the blue 
ribbon around its neck. Rising to her feet, she tried 
in vain to lift it to a standing position. 

Jake watched her, and brushed away his tears, 
unobserved by the child. 

The slender limbs twitched convulsively; a piti- 
ful bleat of anguish escaped from the pink mouth; 
the muscles straightened; the nerveless eyelids fell; 
and the gentle life sped — who dares say where? 

The child looked at it a moment, and then whis- 
pered softly, “ Keep still Uncle Jake, Mino’s gone to 
sleep.” 

He moved quietly to the trunk of a fallen tree, 
and then beckoned her to follow him. 

She made a gesture of assent, and unfastening 
her little apron, she spread it over the lifeless form. 
She then removed her white sunbonnet, and drew it 
over the face, tucking it carefully behind the ears. 

When all was arranged to her satisfaction, she 
noiselessly seated herself on the log by Jake’s side, 
and whispered, “ Let’s keep still now Uncle Jake, 
till he wakes up.” 

His face wore a sad look and his voice trembled 
when he said, “ Don’ you know honey, Mino ain’t 


MARFA, 


35 


gwine open dem purty eyes agin. He’s dead honey, 
’deed he is.” 

“What’s that Uncle Jake? What is dead?” said 
the child wonderingly. 

He looked at her with a puzzled expression on 
his face, at a loss for words to express his meaning. 
He scratched his woolly head, as if to stir up his 
befogged ideas, and at last said, in a sort of doubt- 
ful manner, a Why chile, I reckon its jes’ when de 
bref goes outen de body.” 

“But where does it go to, Uncle Jake? And 
don’t it ever come back again? ” 

Poor Jake. Many a wiser philosopher than he, 
has been forced to evasion, to escape the searching 
inquiries of a child. 

“Ise gwine tole you honey,” and his face bright- 
ened, as a happy thought showed him the way 
through the difficulty, “ what de preacher read in de 
good book, how de Lawd made man outen de dust 
of de field. Den he breved some of his own bref in 
him, an’ dat give him life, an’ he become a livin’ 
soul. Now I spec when he gits ready, he’s gwine 
take dat soul back agin, cos you see honey, dat’s 
part of his own self, an’ it can’t neber die, but is 
gwine ter lib on foreber an eber in de bootiful Heben 
above.” 

“Did Mino’s soul go up there? ” said the child, 
lifting her eyes from the lifeless fawn to the blue 
vault above. 


3 6 


MARFA. 


“ I dunno for suah honey, but I spec he don’ hab 
no soul. Leastwise de good book don’ say nuffin 
’bout it. It jes say how de Lawd breaved his bref 
into man — nuffin ’bout fawns an’ sich like,” 

4 ‘Who did breathe the breath into Mino, then, 
and where has it gone? ” said the child, beginning 
to cry as a sense of her loss crept slowly through 
her mind. 

Poor old Jake, having arrived at the summit of 
his knowledge, could give her no answer. He took 
her in his arms and began crooning one of his favor- 
ite songs ; his usual manner of smoothing over the 
troublesome spots in her life. 

De bootiful gates stood wide open, 

De bootiful gates above. 

A dear little angel went strayin’ — 

Strayed outside de doorway of love. 

On a pretty soft cloud it went sailin’, 

It sailed on a cloud of sof snow, 

From de Ian’ where de sun’s eber shinin’, 

To dis daik Ian’ of trouble below. 

The tears dried on the flushed cheeks, the sobs 
grew less frequent, her head drooped, and rested on 
his shoulder, and she was soon roaming in the une^ 
plored land of sleep, 


The Roomy Verandas of the Great Hotel. 













CHAPTER VI. 


REBELLING AGAINST FATE. 

Mark Payne had watched the affecting scene 
unobserved, and when Marfa became quiet, he drew 
near the log where Jake was seated. 

His curiosity was aroused. He had often met 
the colored pair in his rambles through the grove, 
but this was his first knowledge of the child’s 
existence. 

Although the scene he had just witnessed was 
proof of the purity of Jake’s nature, a feeling of 
repugnance overcame him when he saw the pink 
tinted cheek, pressed against the dark face, and the 
long golden brown locks mingling with the kinky 
wool. 

Jake gave a startled look, and half rose to his 
feet when Mark Payne began questioning him 
concerning the child. He hesitated before he 
answered, but the kind voice and benevolent face of 
the inquirer, won his confidence, and he told the 
story from the beginning. 

Mark Payne listened attentively, and a queer 
smile overspread his face, when he heard Jake’s 
theory of the celestial origin of the child. He 

37 


MARFA. 


38 

pointed to the dead fawn, and Jake explained the 
affair. 

Marfa was passionately fond of pets. Jake had 
captured the fawn, on one of his hunting expedi- 
tions, and brought it home to her. The gentle 
creature soon learned to love her, and was her 
constant companion. She was playing in the sand 
by the river shore, and Jake was mending his boat 
near by, when they were startled by a shot; and 
the fawn, uttering a frightened bleat, fell to the 
ground. 

A small boat, going swiftly toward the Cana- 
dian shore, was supposed to contain the perpetrators 
of the cruel deed. 

Mark Payne’s feelings were touched. The 
sight of such beauty and innocence, surrounded, as 
it was, by so fascinating a mystery, made a deep 
impression on his mind, and he resolved then and 
there, to make an effort in her behalf. He could 
hardly interpret his undefined plans when he said: 

“ Have you made up your mind what you will 
do with her Jake? You surely don’t mean to keep 
her until she grows up.” 

“ I mean to keep ’er Massa Payne, till de good 
Lawd calls ’er home agin. I promis’ him dat, when 
he firs’ sen’ her down, an’ Ise gwine keep my word, 
for shuah.” 

“ Does she attend school?” 

“I dun try dat once Massa Payne; I took ’er 


REBELLING AGAINST FATE. 3 9 

down to de ole red school ’ouse, but dem wicked 
chilluns — dey call ’er bad names. Dey say she aint 
no ’count, an’ aint got no folks only black niggers, 
an’ when she come home cryin,’ I jes tol ’er she’s 
gwine stay wid Uncle Jake, an’ if de Lawd’s gwine 
want ’er to git de eddication, He’s gwine show ole 
Jake whatvto do ’bout it.” 

Great deeds for which we watch and wait, 

Oft lie the nearest home. 

Wild plans and shapeless resolutions, ran con- 
fusedly through the listener’s mind. His ardent, 
romantic nature, was just ripe for any quixotic 
undertaking. He stood in deep thought for some 
time. At length he shook himself slightly, and gave 
a sigh of relief. Looking down on the sleeping child, 
he said: 

“ Will you let me teach her?” 

Jake was speechless. In his grandest plans for 
the little one, he had never aspired to such a hight 
as this. As soon as he could recover his voice he 
exclaimed : 

“O Massa Payne! You aint foolin’ is you? 
You don’ mean it for shuah.” 

“ We’ll see about it,” was the reply, and he 
disappeared among the trees. 

In due time the arrangements were all made 
and the child was brought to the library each day 
for the lesson. 

Several years had passed, and the course of 


4 ° 


MARFA. 


study had been faithfully followed, interrupted only 
by Mark Payne’s wanderings, which, for some 
reason, were growing less and less frequent. 

And now let us return to the library, where we 
left Marfa in her little chair before the desk, near 
the dormer window. 

“ Well Girlie,” said Mr. Payne, — he could never 
call her by the odd abbreviation Mumsy had given 
her, — “ and how are the lessons to-day?” 

She dropped her head on the desk and remained 
silent. 

He stroked the soft tangle of brown locks, and 
said: 

“Never mind then. A little too hard, were 
they? Come now, don’t cry, and we’ll go over them 
again.” 

She lifted her head suddenly, shook back the 
curls that crept into her eyes, and said rather defi- 
antly : 

“No, Master Payne, it was not too hard; but I 
forgot all about it, till Mumsy called me, and now 
Pm so sorry.” 

He drew a chair by her side and sat down. 

“Tell me all about it Girlie.” 

She swallowed a rising sob, and twirled the 
leaves of the book she still held in her hand. 

“ I took this from the shelf,” she said, “ When I 
was here yesterday. I knew you wouldn’t care 
and I thought I would read a chapter or two this 


REBELLING AGAINST FATE. 4 1 

morning, before I began to study, — and — and — O 
Master Payne, I read on and on, and it made me so 
unhappy. The girl in it was just like me. She 
hadn’t any body for her very own . She wasn’t any 
body, and nobody knew who she was. And — and 
— I wanted to find out if she found out who she was. 
And so I read on and on, and had just finished when 
Mumsy called me.” 

“ And did you find out if she found out,” he 
asked, while an amused smile crept over his face. 

“ O yes!” and her face brightened, “she found 
her really, truly, father and mother and went to 
her own real home to live. It made me feel so sad, 
for I know I’m just like she was, and I’m afraid I’ll 
never know who I am. Uncle Jake says I came 
down from Heaven, and I believed him when I was 
younger, but I know better now. And I do want to 
see my own father and mother. I’m so homesick, 
Master Payne.” 

The tears rolled down her cheeks, unheeded. 
Mr. Payne drew the little pink bordered handker- 
chief from her pocket, and wiped them away. 

“Uncle Jake and Mumsy are kind to me,” she 
continued, u and I love them dearly, but,” she hesi- 
tated a moment, “you know what I want to say, 
Master Payne. They are not like you, and I can- 
not bear to think that things will always be as they 
are now,” and the head went down on the desk 
again. * 


4 2 


MARFA. 


Mark Payne heard these first flutterings of an 
awakening spirit, rebelling against fettered circum- 
stances, and realized how gloomy the outlook was 
just then. 

“ Girlie,” there was a caressing tone in his voice, 
“ do you remember the motto we had in the lesson 
the other day? 

“ * Time rights wrong.’ 

“ Be patient and brave. There is one who knows 
your secret, and He will unfold it in His own good 
time and way. Cheer up now and we will go over 
the lesson again.” 

The book was opened and spread out on the 
desk, and they were ready to begin, when a low 
peculiar whistle, which appeared to come from the 
grove behind the house, attracted his attention. 

A strange excited look overspread the girl’s face, 
and when the sound was repeated, she arose and 
closed the book, saying, as she did so: 

“Please, Master Payne, I’d rather go now, and 
study the lesson at home.” 

He looked at her curiously for a moment, and a 
faint suspicion entered his mind. 

Was the sound a preconcerted signal? Had she 
a secret which was not shared with him? 

“Impossible,” he thought, as he walked by her 
side to the cabin. 

Leaving her at the door, he walked toward the 
river. 


REBELLING AGAINST FATE. 43 

Jake was standing on the high bank of the cove, 
with a small parcel in his hand, which he slipped in 
his pocket, when he saw Mr. Payne approaching. 
Then he began to peel the bark from the tree 
against which he was leaning. 

u What are you doing?” said Mr. Payne. 

“Pse jes gwine git some of dis yere slippery elm 
bark fer Mumsy’s cough; its powerful good fer 
colds,” said he, jerking a long strip that clung to the 
base of a small branch. 

u Who was it I heard whistling out here, a short 
time ago?” 

U I dunno what whistlin’ you hear. Spec’ like it 
mus’ be Marfa’s mocking bird, ober dere in de cage, 
Massa Payne.” 

Jake’s creed, like many another one, was very 
elastic. When it became necessary, he conformed 
it to circumstances. Placing a small piece of the 
bark in his mouth, he made a neat roll of the re. 
mainder, and started toward the cabin. 

The lessons were a success the following day. 
When the books were closed, and they were just 
about to commence a general review of the work, a 
rap was heard at the door. 

“ A telegram, sir. Ten cents due,” said the boy, 
as he drew the yellow envelope from his pocket. 
The silver coin was placed in the outstretched hand, 
and the door was closed. 

Mr. Payne slid his knife carefully through the 


44 


MARFA. 


end of the envelope, and drew out the slip of paper. 
A shadow passed over his face as he looked at it. 

As the years rolled backward, he was gradually 
losing the desire for roaming and adventure, and 
had grown to be almost contented, living this un- 
eventful life of study and dreams, brightened by the 
daily lessons. And, though he was loth to confess 
it to himself, those lessons held the secret of the 
heavy heart that followed the reading of the tele- 
gram. 

“Business of importance. Come immediately.” 
This was the message. 

He looked at it in a sort of dazed way, as if 
awaking from a dream, and the thought of the great 
outside world, forced itself between him and the 
quiet life he had learned to love. 

He looked around the room, at the desk by the 
window with the pile of books upon it, and then his 
eyes rested on the figure in the little chair. There 
was a short, sharp struggle between inclination and 
duty, and then he said, in an assumed cheerful tone: 

“Well, Girlie, I am obliged to give you a vaca- 
tion.” 

“ O, Master Payne. Are you going away 
again? 

“ Please don’t, I am so lonesome without the 
lessons,” 

Mark Payne gleaned a “crumb of comfort,” from 
the thought that he would be missed. 


REBELLING AGAINST FATE. 45 

“ I am obliged to go, Girlie, but hope I may not 
be absent long,” 

A great cloud of black smoke moving swiftly 
down the river, warned him of the approach of the 
morning steamer. 

He gave her the library key, with a few hurried 
words of advice concerning the lessons, and then he 
did what he had never thought of doing before. He 
took the sad face between his hands, and left a warm 
kiss on the trembling mouth, then he walked out 
into the great world and left her. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A FAMILY SKELETON. 

The roomy verandas of the great hotel were 
crowded with the summer guests. 

The beautiful river was specked with crafts of 
all descriptions, from the diminutive yacht, with its 
scanty crew of two, to the great weather beaten 
steamer, stained with the brine of the Atlantic, 

All eyes were turned to the point on the Cana- 
dian shore where the afternoon boat, belching out 
thick clouds of black smoke, was just coming in 
sight. 

Many were expecting friends, and all were anx- 
ious to get a first glimpse of the new arrivals. 

When the boat reached the landing there was 
the usual blowing of whistles, clanking of chains, 
and ringing of bells. The loop in the great cable 
was thrown over the pile', and the gang-plank 
securely fastened. 

And then the crowd came rushing and crushing 
along, carrying baskets and babies, bundles and 
books, hurrying up the long pier, and overflowing 
the grounds. 

When the landing place was comparatively clear, 

46 


A FAMILY SKELETON. 


47 


a fine team of gray horses, attached to a family car- 
riage, and driven by a coachman in livery, came 
through the gangway, and pranced along the gravel 
road that led to the barn. Following them was a 
distinguished looking party — a middle aged man, a 
young girl, and a tall slender lady, apparently an 
invalid, accompanied by her maid. 

Their appearance caused a little murmur of 
excitement among the guests on the verandas. 
There was much hurrying to and fro among the 
servants, opening and closing of doors, and excited 
conversation, while the party was slowly advancing 
toward the house. That they were “ somebody n 
was unanimously conceded. 

Several weeks had passed, and very little infor- 
mation had been obtained concerning the family. 
The well trained maid and coachman were unap- 
proachable. The register gave the names of Mr. 
and Mrs. Eastman, daughter and maid, and the 
curious were forced to accept this intelligence, and 
await future developments. They made but few 
acquaintances, and these were unable to solve the 
mystery that surrounded the family. 

Mr. Eastman was a thoughtful stern man, with 
a bowed head, and drooping shoulders. Like a 
lightning blasted tree, he bore the mark of some 
blighting sorrow. He was silent and sad, except 
when in the presence of his daughter. 

Then his countenance beamed with fond pride 


4 8 


MARFA. 


and affection, as he listened to her lively chatter, 
and watched the play of her thoughts and words, on 
her uplifted face. 

Mrs. Eastman was seldom seen by the guests, 
excepting when passing to and from the carriage 
for the daily drive. 

Her long trailing black robes, and her large 
mournful eyes full of unshed tears, had gained her 
the title of the “ black robed lady who never smiles.” 

There were rumors among the servants of a dark 
robed figure, wandering through the halls and cor- 
ridors, in the “ wee sma’ hours,” and chanting a 
wierd song, with a much repeated refrain. 

Nervous guests in their wakeful moods, some- 
times caught the wailing tones, and heard the 
rustling of soft skirts as they trailed past the closed 
doors. 

It was afternoon. The river steamer had arrived 
and departed. The excitement which its arrival 
had created, was followed by another event of equal 
importance — the distribution of the daily mail. 

Carol Eastman was curled up in a hammock, 
which hung from the ceiling of the veranda, uncon- 
scious of the realities surrounding her, but wide 
awake to the peculiar fascination of the new novel 
she was reading. 

Her father came around the corner with a loose 
bundle of letters and newspapers in his hand. He 


A FAMILY SKELETON. 


49 


seated himself in a chair near the hammock, and 
looked over the parcel. 

The shadow of a smile brightened his sad face, 
as he read the address on a pink tinted envelope, 
and then placed it on the open book before her. 

The book flew over the side of the hammock, 
and she sprang to her feet, exclaiming as she did so, 
“ O papa! where did you get it?” 

Without waiting for a reply, she hastily tore it 
open, regardless of the many eyes that were watch- 
ing her, and was soon as deeply interested in the 
letter as she had been in the book. 

Suddenly a little gasp of pleasure was heard, and 
she exclaimed, 11 O papa! just think; isn’t it lovely? 
Roe is coming next week.” 

He smiled as he looked at the illumined face, 
and she continued, “Wouldn’t it be delightful if he 
were here to attend the hop with me to-night? How 
happy I should be,” and she breathed a sigh of 
regret, as she slipped the letter in her pocket. 

“ Those little 1 ifs ’ confront us at all stages of 
life, my child. Your poor mother has long battled 
with one. I had hoped that this pure air and beau- 
tiful scenery would be a benefit to her, but the 
doctor tells me she is worse again to-day.” 

“ Poor mamma. How thoughtless I have been. 
I promised Hannah I would sing to her, and I had 
forgotten it entirely.” 

Stooping down she left a kiss on her father’s sad 


So 


MARFA, 



face, and then went swiftly along the veranda and 
disappeared from his sight, and soon after he heard 
her voice, low and sweet, singing the soothing Dream 
Song : 

Adown the dim valley, 

On slumberland’s stream, 

Float, weary one, float. 

Through the ’wildering paths 
Of thy gossamer dream. 

Float, weary one, float. 

Floating — dreaming — floating, 

Floating on slumber-land’s tide. 

Where dream- voices whisper, 

And dream-hands caress, 

Float, weary one, float. 

Where dream-angels linger, 

Thy slumber to bless, 

Float, weary one, float. 

Floating — dreaming — floating, 

Floating on slumber-land’s tide, 









































































» 







« 










St. Clair River with its silver-slippered feet. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


IN THE PATH OF DANGER. 

It was the night of the hop. The beautiful river 
stretched out to the right and left, smooth and un- 
ruffled. 

The full moon was shining in a clear sky, and 
the long silvery rays brightened into a path of light 
that reached from shore to shore. 

The hotel grounds were handsomely illuminated. 
Chinese lanterns of various designs hung suspended 
from the lower branches of the trees. 

The colored electric globes hissed and sputtered 
overhead, flooding the lawn with a wierd blue light, 
and stamping the black shadows of the shrubbery 
and branching evergreens deep into the pile of the 
closely shaven grass. 

Fairy music from the band, which was stationed 
on the upper veranda, floated and quivered through 
the still clear air. 

Gaily dressed women, accompanied by their dark- 
robed escorts, wandered in and out among the lights 
and shadows. 

Within, the merriment increased as the hours 

53 


54 


MARFA. 


sped; the whole place was alive and in motion, with 
riotous pleasure. 

The servants, freed for the time from the eyes of 
their watchful employers, were gathering stray bits 
of reflected happiness from their various places of 
concealment. 

Even the faithful Hannah, — Mrs. Eastman’s 
trusted maid, — had been tempted from duty by the 
rippling melodies that had reached her ear. 

u Why not me as well as the others?” she mut- 
tered to herself. “ The missus is fast asleep, and 
she’s that tired with the worriment of the day that 
she’ll not be wakin’ for a time, I’m thinkin’.” 

Mr. Eastman had wandered through the house 
and grounds until he wearied of the scene. 

Leaving Carol with friends, he found a secluded 
seat near the shore. 

The ripples that splashed monotonously against 
the low buildings near him failed to lull his unquiet 
thoughts. His soul was rebelling against the bitter- 
ness of fate that held him securely in bonds that 
could not be broken. 

His shadowed face brightened when Carol left 
the crowd, as she often did, to whisper of some little 
incident, or stroke his hair lightly while she bent 
down and left a kiss on his wrinkled forehead. 

How like a pretty picture she looked, with her 
cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing. She wore a 
pale pink dress of some soft floating material, artis- 


IN THE PATH OF DANGER. 55 

tically fashioned and draped around her graceful 
form. A flower fan, made of the golden-eyed Mar- 
guerites, hung from a ribbon at her belt — the only 
decoration in her simple toilet. 

A hoarse whistle drew their attention to a great 
black steamer just opposite the little city. She was 
sunken to her bulwarks with the weight of the iron 
ore which she had brought from the land of the 
“ Gitchee Gurnee.” 

The subdued, smothered sound of the throbbing 
machinery, was like the regular beating of a great 
pulsing heart, giving life to the shrieking monster. 

She cut her way through the silvery path that 
stretched across the river, and the foaming waters 
rushed shoreward, as if angry at being disturbed. 

Suddenly a short, sharp, warning whistle was 
sounded; loud, excited voices were heard, and the 
throbbing machinery was silenced, 

The crew were gathered in the bow of the 
steamer, which now floated along with the current. 
Again the danger signal was sounded. 

By this time the merry revelers were hurrying 
excitedly to the shore. 

“ Look,” some one exclaimed, “there’s a small 
boat directly in front of the steamer.” 

All eyes were turned in the direction indicated, 
and a thrill of horror passed through the crowd, 
when they saw a single figure sitting in the stern, 
awkwardly managing the boat with a paddle, and 


5 6 MARFA. 

apparently unconscious of the dangerous situation. 

“ Doomed/’ was the general opinion of the 
horrified spectators, when they saw the figure sway 
and then drop the paddle in the water and sink to 
the bottom of the boat. 

Just when all hope had vanished, another boat 
coming swiftly from the opposite shore, cut through 
the foaming water in front of the bow of the steamer. 

A few dexterous strokes of the oar, — the relieved 
lookers-on could hardly realize how it was done, — 
and the two boats were side by side, rushing from 
the path of danger and nearing the shore. 

Mr. Eastman and Carol followed the excited 
crowd to the landing place, where the two boats 
were drawn out of the water by willing hands. 

They saw a little bent man, with a shock of grey 
hair, and a long grizzled beard, rise from the seat 
and step over the side. His sharp glittering eyes 
wandered over the crowd a moment before he 
spoke. 

“Pritty close shave dat, eh? I tink one time I 
gon fin’ de bottom myself. Dat ’ooman mus’ be 
crazy, when she go on dat boat all ’lone.” 

At the word “woman,” Mr. Eastman pushed 
his way excitedly through the crowd followed by 
his daughter. 

He bent over the prostrate form, and lifted the 
long black hair from the face which it concealed. 

“O my God!” he moaned. Carol climbed into 


IN THE PATH OF DANGER. 57 

the boat, sat down on the low seat and raised the 
drooping head in her lap, 

“Poor dear Mamma,” she sobbed, and her tears 
fell on the limp hand which she stroked and kissed 
alternately. 

Mr. Eastman seemed deprived of the power of 
speech or motion for the time. 

The rescuer was unconcerned, and in a most 
matter-of-fact manner, drew a tin tobacco box from 
his pocket, and rolling a generous part of its con- 
tents into a round ball tucked it in his mouth, as if 
to reward himself for his bravery. 

Just then a voice was heard, 

“ Leave me go to my Missus,” and the regretful 
Hannah elbowed her way to the boats. 

The sound of her voice aroused Mr. Eastman to 
a sense of the situation. 

Bidding the little Frenchman follow him, he 
raised the unconscious form from the bottom of the 
boat, and with Hannah’s assistance bore her to the 
house. 

When French Joe was again seated in his boat, 
a satisfied smile brightened his wrinkled face, as he 
bit the yellow coins, one by one, to test their purity 
before dropping them into his greasy wallet. 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE STORM. 

The span of grays stood at the hotel entrance 
impatiently pawing the gravel under their feet. 

The liveried coachman sat erect, with the reins 
in his white gloved hands, awaiting his passengers. 

The loungers on the verandas gazed at them 
curiously when they came slowly down the steps. 

It was Mrs. Eastman’s first appearance since the 
night of her perilous adventure and timely rescue. 

The mystery was deepening, and the family’s 
movements were becoming decidedly interesting, as 
no explanations had been given, and all allusions to 
the affair had been frowned down. 

The spirited horses were soon dashing along the 
wide, smooth street that reached from end to end of 
the beautiful little city, on through the shady grove 
and out into the open country. The bread fields of 
uncut hay and grain rose and sank in long billowy 
waves, as the warm south wind swept over them, 

The road stretched along, playing hide and seek 
with the river, past the many weather-beaten farm- 
houses, which were half hid among the ancient 
apple orchards. 


58 


THE STORM. 


59 


On and on they went, never heeding the darken- 
ing sky, or the low rumbling of the approaching 
storm. 

At last the horses halted at the foot of a steep 
sand hill, pricked up their ears and neighed uneasily, 
as if they scented danger in the air, 

Mr. Eastman alighted and looked in astonish- 
ment at the scene. One of those sudden changes 
for which the lake region is noted had covered the 
blue sky with a moving mass of angry clouds, borne 
along by a fierce west wind. A touch of iciness in 
the air contrasted sharply with the balmy breeze 
that had fanned them an hour before. 

“How far are we from the hotel, Mike?” he 
asked, anxiously. 

“ Indade an’ I could not say for shure, sir, but at 
the laste it’s eight or nine miles, I’m thinkin’.” 

“We cannot escape the storm,” he said, turning 
to Carol, “ but we must try and reach shelter of 
some kind. Turn around, Mike, and hurry home- 
ward as fast as possible. Remember your mistress 
is here.” 

“ Shure an’ I’m well aware of that, sor, an’ I’ll 
do the best I can.” 

The long whip played around the horses’ ears, 
and the sparks flew from their flying feet as they 
rushed along over the stony road. 

Mr. Eastman busied himself in quieting the 
nervous invalid, while Carol watched the blazing 


6o 


MARFA, 


skies. The wild scene fascinated her, and she leaned 
far out of the carriage window, to look at the long 
zig-zag streaks reaching down like fiery fingers 
among the tall tree-tops. 

The storm overtook them at last — a mingled 
torrent of hail and rain. 

Poor Mike could hardly see to manage the now 
thoroughly frightened horses, as they reared and 
plunged along amid the deafening racket. He did 
his best, however, at the same time watching for 
the picnic pavilion that stood by the side of the 
road. 

At length he could see, away in the distance, the 
dark outlines of the building, and plying the whip 
vigorously, they were soon under the welcome 
shelter, 

Mike climbed down from his lofty seat, and 
patted the trembling, dripping horses. 

A low, rustling sound, coming from a dark cor. 
ner, attracted Mr. Eastman’s attention, and stepping 
from the carriage, he whispered, “ Light the lamps r 
Mike.” 

The rays spread out through the thick mist, and 
gradually brought to their sight a dark object on a 
bench near them. 

“Phat are ye’s doin’ there?” said Mike, at the 
same time backing slowly toward the horses. 

“O, Mon Dieu! Sacre!” was the answer, and 
French Joe arose from the seat, his teeth chattering^ 


THE STORM. 


6 1 


and his knees trembling. There was a wild, fright- 
ened look in his eyes, as they peered out from 
under his brush-like eyebrows, that was altogether 
unnatural. 

“ What is the trouble here, my good man ? ” said 
Mr, Eastman, recognizing him instantly. 

“Everyting’s all right now, Meester,” said Joe, 
shrugging his shoulders, “but I git beeg scare when 
I hear dem horse come on de shed. I tink for sure 
I gon see de ghost.” 

“ What do you mean? ” said Mr. Eastman, in a 
low voice, glancing uneasily at the carriage. 

u Don’t you never hear ’bout de ghost, Meester, 
what come on de tunderstorm, an’ drive de leetle 
sorrel ponies down dis hill ? ” 

Mr. Eastman shook his head, and gave his atten- 
tion to the occupants of the carriage, while Mike, 
making a pretense of arranging some part of the 
harness, jerked one of the straps and said, impa- 
tiently : 

“ Phat are ye’s givin’ us? ” 

u Maybe you call dat foolishness, but never min’; 
I tink you fin’ out for yourself pritty soon,” 

The hail storm had passed by, but the rain was 
still falling in waves, and the thunder followed the 
flashes of light in a continuous roar, 

Mr. Eastman left the carriage, and beckoning to 
the Frenchman, led the way to a far corner of the 
shed. 


62 


MARFA. 


“Now tell me what you mean, my good fellow, 
but be careful and speak low,” 

“ All right. I tol you someting, den maybe you 
see someting for yourself, den you believe what I 
tol you. I never see it myself, but I hear ’bout it 
many time, Dat’s a long story ’bout de ghost what 
drive de ponies. I tol you, if you want to hear it.” 

Mr. Eastman felt the pressure of a little hand on 
his arm, 

“ Mamma is sleeping now, papa. Please let him 
tell the story. It is just a delightful time to hear it; 
besides, it will be rare fun to watch Mike’s face; 
he’s so* superstitious.” 

She stood just in the path of the long smoky rays 
of light, her face beaming with merriment and ex- 
pectancy. 

He drew her to his side, and a proud smile over- 
spread his features, 

“ You may tell the story,” said he.“ My daugh 
ter would like to hear it.” 

“All right, meester; I tol you.” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE GHOST. 

“ Dat’s good many years ago, when de bush come 
close on de shore, an’ everyting roun’ here’s all 
wild. De deer an’ turkey feed on dis hill, an’ 
nobody scare ’em. 

“Bimeby dere come a Englishman wid plenty 
money, an’ buy beeg section of lan’. All dis hill 
come on dat section. - 

“You no can see it now, but on de day-time you 
fin’ dat’s curi’s hill — it go down an’ down like a 
stair from de road to de river. 

“Den he make him a house. I tell you what, dat’s 
nice house. Sometime when you go on de road, 
maybe you see it It’s no good now. It’s all spile 
wid de sun an’ de rain, — but when he first make it — - 
I tell you dat’s fine. 

“Den he bring his wife home. Everybody like 
’er but nobody like dat man. He feel too beeg 
an proud, 

“He keep one ole black man what take care of de 
ponies. Nobody else come on de place. 

“When he live here ten or eight year, he begin to 
drink pretty hard. He git worse an’ worse, till 
63 


6 4 


MARFA. 


bimeby he stay on de salloon in de town mos’ all de 
time, drinkin’ an’ drinkin’ all day an sometime half 
de night, 

“Den somebody put him on de wagon, an’ de 
ponies start for home. 

“I tell you what Meester, dere’s music along 
dat road den. He holler an’ yell, an’ trash dem 
poor little sorrel ponies wid de butt en’ of de whip, 
till he wake up everybody what live aroun’ dere, 
an’ dey run out door to see what de matter is. 

“But bimeby dey get used to dat, an’ dey jes turn 
over in bed an’ say: 

c O, dat’s nothin’ only ole Parker on a spree,’ 

“Well he go on like dat for a while, an’ den he 
give up; an’ one night de time come when he’s gon 
die. 

“I tink dat night mus’ be someting like ’tis now, 
Dey say dat was a terrible storm. De lightnin’ 
come down an’ strip de bark from de trees an’ set 
’em afire, an de tunder shake de groun’ 

“Now what you tink dat ole man do? 

“He make dat poor woman open every door an’ 
winder in de house. He say he like to see de 
lightnin’ play. 

“An den he lay dere on his back, in de bed, an’ 
yell an’ holler, an curse an’ swear, like he try .to 
make more nise dan de tunder could, 

“De black man, he git scare, an’ hide himself in 
de cellar, an’ leave dat woman all ’lone. 


THE GHOST. 


6 S 


“Well, dat ole man keep it up till sunrise, an 
den he die. I guess maybe she mus’ be glad den. 

“But what you tink? She don’t git done wid 
him yit. 

“He make on his will sumting what’s curi’s. He 
say she’s gon dig a hole in de side of de hill, an’ 
make a little house of tick plank. Maybe when 
’taint so dark, you see de place. Dat’s right over 
dar.” 

Joe had reached this point in the story when he 
was interrupted by a simultaneous flash and crash? 
which was followed by long tongues of Are twisting 
among the branches of a tall walnut tree that stood 
near the building. 

Carol clasped her father’s arm with both hands, 
and hid her face on his shoulder ; she forgot to 
watch Mike, who was doing his best to sooth the 
frightened horses. 

Joe clapped his hands over his eyes for a 
moment and then continued the story with a trem- 
bling voice. 

“ I tink you see de spot easy ’nuff now. Dat 
walnut tree stan’s close on de place. 

“Well dat woman she git de little house build, 
den dey shove ’im in, an* lock de door. 

“ But you tink he’s gon stay dere, meester? I 
guess not. Dat place no hoi’ ’im. Dat’s too small. 

“ Pritty soon after dat, de little sorrels dey git 
lonesome, an’ dey die, too. 


66 


MARFA. 


“Den somebody begin talk about de ghos’; an’ 
bimeby dere come so much talk, de folks say dat 
won’t do. 

“ So dey take de ole man an’ put ’im on de grave- 
yard, an’ pull de little house down, an’ fill up de 
hole. 

“You tink de ghos’ leave de place? No, sir-ee! 

“But pritty soon he git company. I can’t tol you 
how he do it, but he git dem little ponies agin. 

“An’ now folks say, every time a big tunder storm 
come from de west, he come ’long wid it, an’ when 
he reach de top of de hill, he begin to holler an’ yell, 
an’ trash de little ponies wid de butt en’ of de whip, 
jes’ like when he’s ’live.” 

Another heavy peal and blinding flash inter- 
rupted the story-teller, and high above the din arose 
an unearthly and indescribable sound, accompanying 
the noise of breaking bushes, and the uneven tread 
of some animal racing down the terraced hill toward 
the river. 

Carol again hid her face on her father’s shoulder, 
and Joe stuffed his fingers in his ears and sank in a 
shivering heap on the bench, while Mike struggled 
with the frightened horses. 

Not a word was spoken until the thunder was 
heard rumbling away over the Canadian tree-tops. 

“Papa,” whispered Carol, without raising her 
head, “let us go home.” 


THE GHOST. 67 

He led her to the carriage, and looking at the 
quiet figure asleep upon the cushions, said: 

u Stay with your mother, my child, for a few 
moments.” 

Then he went outside of the building. He saw 
the narrow moon in the clear blue western sky, while 
the heavy black clouds hung low down over the 
river in the east. 

The rain drops on the dripping bushes twinkled 
in the rays of the burning tree. 

Joe ventured a peep, then straightened himself 
up and followed Mr. Eastman. • 

“What you tink now, meester, ’bout de ghos’?” 

“Wait a few minutes and I will tell you,” as a 
sound of breaking bushes and the tramping of feet, 
which seemed to come from the direction of the 
river, reached their ears. 

The bushes swayed back and forth as the spectre 
advanced toward them. 

Suddenly that terrible sound broke the silence, 
and Mr. Eastman’s hearty laugh joined in the 
chorus. 

Carol rushed out, with Mike following close be- 
hind her. 

And there stood the dreaded ghost — a poor 
little blonde donkey, with the water dripping from 
his long ears and shaggy sides. 

He looked stupidly at the group for a moment, 


68 


MARFA. 


in a listless, dejected manner, and then disappeared 
among the bushes again. 

u What do you think about the ghost now, my 
good man?” said Mr. Eastman, turning to Joe. 

He scratched his head and shook it doubtfully. 

“ I tink, meester — , I guess I don’ no what I 
tink.” 

Mr. Eastman smiled at the queer reply, and said : 

“ Back out your horses now, Mike,” 

“ I’ll do that, sir. Begorra, an’ it’s quare ghosts 
ye have in this counthry, I’m thinkin’.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


ROE MASON’S ARRIVAL. 

It was midsummer, and the air was quivering 
with the intense heat. 

The journey had been long and tedious, and 
when Roe Mason stepped from the cars and fol- 
lowed the crowd to the landing place of the up-river 
steamer, he was both cross and tired. 

But the refreshing breeze that rimpled the beau- 
tiful river brought new life and energy, and he found 
a comfortable seat in the bow of the boat, just as 
the starting signal sounded. 

He watched the foaming waters divide and re- 
cede as the steamer cut her way through them, 
throbbing and trembling in a very human-like way. 

The great noisy city and the beautiful green 
island park gradually disappeared in the misty dis- 
tance, and then he passed out into that circular- 
shaped lake which Father Louis Hennepin baptized 
as Lac Ste. Claire. 

Then the two long misty lines drew near each 
other again, and the great marshes spread out like 
a green carpet around him. 

The stately rushes bowed and nodded as if wish- 
69 


7 ° 


MARFA. 


ing him “ bon-voyage,” and in some places almost 
brushed the sides of the boat. 

The broad stretch of marsh, veined with creeks 
and channels, seemed almost endless. 

At last this great wilderness of space narrowed, 
and he was soon hemmed in by the banks of the St 
Clair river. 

The beautiful St. Clair, with its “ silver slippered- 
feet, — over whose pure glassy waters so many gen- 
erations have glided — under whose cruel waves so 
many souls have solved the mystery. 

Halting at the many little cities that dot the 
shore, where the whole population, apparently, came 
rushing down to the wharf to welcome the steamer; 
the trip was enlivened by a continual succession of 
surprises and incidents. 

At last he saw, away in the distance, the mag- 
nificent hotel outlined against the blue sky. 

And now, while the steamer is nearing the beau- 
tiful grounds, go with me to the southern city, which 
Roe Mason calls home, and learn who he is, and 
why his face wears that pleased look when he sees 
the hotel in the distance. 

A door opening on the principal street bore a 
respectable sign in black and gold: 

: R. MASON & SON. : 

was the inscription. 

Here, as junior member of the famous law firm, 


ROE MASON’S ARRIVAL. 7 1 

Roe Mason had taken his seat on graduating from a 
northern law school. 

Some two or three years before his trip north- 
ward, a complicated case involving many clients and 
much wealth, was dragging through the courts. 
Mr, Eastman was an interested party, and Majson & 
Son managed his interests. 

One day when he was consulting them on some 
matter regarding the business, a faint rap at the 
inner office door interrupted them. An annoyed 
frown overspread Roe Mason’s face. 

“ Confound that boy,” he said, “ I told him we 
were not to be disturbed.” 

But when he opened the door and saw the pretty 
up-turned face smiling through the glistening tears, 
he forgot his annoyance; and when he heard the 
sweet voice say: 

“ Please, Mr. Mason, is papa here?” he threw 
the door wide open and invited her to enter. 

She went across the room where Mr. Eastman 
was sitting, and putting her arms around his neck, 
she said something in a low tone which strangely 
agitated him. 

He arose and taking her by the hand went out; 
and it was many years before Roe Mason learned 
what it all meant. 

This incident was the beginning of an acquaint- 
ance which had passed through the usual gradations 


7 2 


MARFA. 


and ended in the betrothal of Roe Mason and Carol 
Eastman. 

His face wore an expectant look when the whistle 
sounded and they reached the landing place. 

The boat crashed against the pier with a force 
which nearly threw the waiting passengers from 
their feet. 

Roe Mason, looking over the heads of those 
nearest him, saw a slender white robed-figure in the 
distance which he recognized. 

He was the first to leave the boat, and regard- 
less of the opinion of the curious spectators who 
crowded the wharf, he rushed up the walk and 
grasped her hand before his fellow-passengers hardly 
realized that they were at their journey’s end. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE ELUSIVE FACE. 

When Roe Mason awoke the next morning the 
sun was just peeping over the tree tops that 
stretched along behind the Canadian village on the 
opposite shore. 

After *a hurried breakfast he launched one of 
the trim little fishing boats, and well supplied with 
all the necessaries for a few hours* sport, started up 
the river. 

The little city, nestled at the foot of the low hill 
that nearly surrounds it, was silent. 

The black water of the narrow river came 
rolling lazily out from under the bridge and mingled 
with the blue of the St. Clair. 

Away in the distance the grove point reached 
out and hid the river scenery. 

He followed the shore around the point and then 
rowed out to a diminutive tug, which was strug- 
gling bravely with her tow of three or four great 
barges against the swift current. 

A rope was thrown from the last one which he 
fastened to the bow of his boat. When he arrived 
opposite the island, he unfastened the line and 
73 


74 


MARFA. 


started on the downward trip, floating with the cur- 
rent. 

His lines were cast out into the deep water, and 
the sport began in real earnest. The silver-blue 
whitefish and green tinted bass were led on by the 
tempting bait and skillfully landed in the bottom of 
the boat. 

The sun was nearly over his head when he drew 
near the grove point again. 

The little brook came dancing out from the 
shady cove; the trees interlaced overhead, and the 
spot looked so cool and tempting after his unusual 
exertion and protracted sun bath, that he turned the 
boat toward the entrance and ran the bow into the 
bank, 

A comfortable rustic seat was fastened to the 
trunk of a large tree near him. 

He looked around among the bushes, and seeing 
no one, he stretched himself out on the seat, and 
was soon a captive to sleep and weariness. 

His penetrating eyes had failed to notice a move- 
ment, a mere trembling of a bunch of hawthorn 
bushes that grew on the opposite bank of the cove. 

When his loud breathing told of his deep sleep, 
the branches were shoved aside, and a fair young 
face peeped out from the opening. The eyes were 
brimming with mischief as she watched the uncon- 
scious sleeper. 


THE ELUSIVE FACE. 75 

A great blue fly was buzzing around his head 
and now and then alighting on his nose or lips. 

His comical efforts to rid himself of the torment 
were highly amusing to the spectator. 

He tossed his arms aimlessly about, occasionally 
bringing his open palm down on the spot just as 

* ‘ The frisky fly 
With feet of fuzz, 

Sailed swiftly by 

With mocking buzz.” 

At last becoming thoroughly aroused by his own 
exertions, he sprang to his feet, and bringing his two 
palms together with a quick movement, he caught 
the saucy plague. 

A satisfied expression drove the look of annoy- 
ance from his face as he tossed his conquered enemy 
in the water. 

He raised his eyes and caught sight of the merry 
face just as it disappeared behind the bushes. 

“ Carol,” he called, but receiving no reply he 
jumped into the boat and turned it toward the op- 
posite bank. 

A few hasty steps brought him to the clump of 
bushes where he expected to find her. 

He was somewhat startled when he saw a great 
shaggy dog stretched out on the grass, lazily snap- 
ping at the hungry flies. 

He looked around among the alders and behind 
the great tree trunks, expecting every moment to 
hear Carol’s merry laugh, but he looked in vain. 


7 6 


MARFA, 


At last he reluctantly gave up the search ’ and 
stood a moment in doubt as to what his next move 
should be. Then he suddenly started up the hill, 
following the path that led to the road, as his 
thoughts wandered in a new direction. 

Perhaps she had been riding along the road and 
caught sight of him as he entered the cove. 

“ The tantalizing mischief,” he muttered. 
“ She’s as provoking as the fly ” 

He climbed the fence and looked up and down 
the long stretch of road, but no carriage was in 
sight. 

Nothing but a little old milkman, who was jog- 
ging along, seated among his rattling cans, chirrup- 
ing to the rickety horse that drew the rickety cart. 

It was no great task to check the speed of the 
animal when Roe Mason spoke. 

“Have you seen anything of a carriage along 
the road since you left town? ” 

“ Nary a carriage nor anything else, sir. You’re 
the fust livin’ creeter I’ve seen since I left my last 
customer.’' 

Roe Mason was completely mystified. He won- 
dered if he could have been mistaken in the face. 
It seemed almost impossible, when every feature of 
his promised bride was so familiar to him. 

They were the same sparkling eyes, the same 
merry, mischievous expression, and the same mass 
of wavy brown hair framing the fair young face. 


THE ELUSIVE FACE. 


77 


No, there was no uncertainty about it. It was 
Carol, beyond a doubt. But why was she here, and 
how could he account for her mysterious disappear' 
ance ? 

And now the story of the haunted hill, which she 
had related to him the night before, became 
strangely blended with his perplexing thoughts. 

Was he bewitched? Could the face have been 
an illusion? 

He laughed uneasily, as he brushed the uncanny 
thoughts from his mind, and returning to the boat, 
he took the oars, and started down the river on his 
way to the hotel. 

He hurried along the path that led from the 
boat-house, rushed up the veranda steps, and turned 
a corner. 

What was this? A hammock idly swinging 
back and forth, propelled by a slippered foot that 
peeped out from the folds and ruffles of the gauzy 
skirts. The familiar head was bent low over the 
mid-summer number of a popular magazine, and he 
drew near without disturbing her. 

“ Carol,” he exclaimed r in an excited tone. 

She looked wonderingly, — his tone aud manner 
were new to her. 

“You startled me, Roe,” and she arose from the 
hammock and shook out her skirts. 

“ How long have you been home ? ” he asked, all 


7 


MARFA. 


sorts of doubts and suspicions running riot in his 
mind. 

“ Home, Roe, — what do you mean? ” 

She became more and more surprised when she 
looked in his face and saw the strange expression. 

“ How innocent,” he said. 

A little lump rose in her throat at first, and she 
felt half inclined to cry. 

His voice had a tone of sarcasm and harshness 
in it which she thought altogether unnecessary. He 
needn’t be so cross, she thought; and she gave her 
head a little toss, and swallowed the threatened 
sobs. And while a forced smile lighted her eyes y 
she eurved her pretty lips in a becoming pout that 
only served to confirm his suspicions. 

He hardly knew what they were himself, and he 
hesitated a moment and looked at her, as she stood 
there apparently so unconcerned before he spoke. 

“Were you out riding this morning? ” 

His voice was somewhat softened, but he watched 
her closely, while he awaited her answer. 

She gave her head a provoking toss, and slid her 
foot back and forth over the short grass. 

“Yes, sir; I believe I was.” The words were 
snipped off, and she pursed her lips in a very pettish 
way. 

“ Will you tell me in what direction you went? ” 

“Let me think a moment,” and the engagement 
ring sparkled when she drew her hand across her 


THE ELUSIVE FACE. 


79 


forehead, as if to refresh her 'memory, “it was 
either south or west, I’m not just sure which. Papa 
and I took a boat and rowed down to the farther 
side of the lawn and back again. It was such a 
lovely morning, you know.” 

He looked at her in surprise. He had thought 
he understood her nature thoroughly, but he was 
forced to confess to himself that she puzzled him 
now. 

He looked out over the river and recalled the 
scene — his deep sleep, the annoying fly, and his 
gradual awakening, with the one glimpse of the face. 
Was it possible that it might have been a part of 
some sweet dream, that floated away on his awak- 
ening ? 

Carol had again taken her seat in the hammock, 
and lifted her eyes lazily from the book, when he 
sat down in the chair beside her. He took the book 
in his hand and idly toyed with the jagged leaves, 
while she tilted her head on one side, and hummed 
a favorite air. 

When he spoke his voice was natural again. 
The harshness and sarcasm were gone. 

“ Carol, forgive me ; I think I must have been 
dreaming,” and he told her the story of the elusive 
face. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


KISMET. 

Roe Mason mounted his favorite saddle horse 
one morning, about a week after the eventful fishing 
excursion. 

He threw his portfolio over his shoulder, waved 
his hand gaily at the group on the veranda, and 
whispering some choice love bit in Carol’s ear, as 
he bent down and straightened the stirrup strap, he 
galloped away. 

Leaving the little city behind him, he followed 
the familiar road through the grove, and out into 
the open country. 

He was thoroughly satisfied with the world and 
himself that morning. 

Carol had teased and tantalized him about his 
dream, until he wished he had never mentioned it. 

It was one of those rare summer days, when the 
heavens and the earth seem drawn toward each 
other, and the air trembles with the action of the 
opposing forces. 

When one who lives “ near to nature’s heart,” 
revels in the purity of the atmosphere. 

80 







KISMET. ' 83 

Roe Mason — poet, artist and musician, drank 
the harmonies unconsciously. 

He rode on until he could see, in the distance, 
the two cities, with the blue waters of Lake Huron 
rushing down over the rapids between them. 

He drew out his watch and was astonished when 
he realized how far he must have come. 

“1 promised Carol a sketch of the pavilion,” he 
said to himself, “ I must have left it miles behind 
me.” 

He turned around and rode slowly along, stop- 
ping now and then to outline the pretty bits of wood 
and water, that make the ride so picturesque. 

At last he reached the ghostly hill, and dismount- 
ing, he led his horse through an opening in the fence, 
slipped the bridle from the animal’s head, and left 
him to roam among the tall red clover blossoms 
that grew in profusion. 

The hill sloped to the river in a succession of 
natural terraces, which were covered with a thick 
growth of large forest trees, skirted with clumps 
of waxy hawthorn bushes, and blossoming alders. 

Looking down on the pavilion which stood on 
one of the terraces, he selected a spot which gave a 
fine view for the sketch. 

He swung himself down the perpendicular earth 
wall, by the help of a wild-grape vine which hung 
from one of the trees, and stood by the blackened 
trunk of the lightning-blasted tree. 


8 4 


MARFA. 


“Just the place,” he said, and he soon became 
wholly absorbed in his work. 

He was giving the final strokes to the sketch, 
when a slight commotion among the bushes drew 
his attention, and soon a shaggy little donkey forced 
his way through, and began nibbling at the stubby 
thistles that grew around a low stump. 

Roe Mason smiled and said to himself, “Just in 
time,” and when the sketch was finished, the little 
donkey with his long dangling ears and stupid' face, 
was prominent in the foreground. 

A low whistle brought the intelligent horse to 
his side, and he was soon on his way home again. 
But a weather-beaten farm-house, with its back- 
ground of crooked apple trees, and the skeleton 
windmill towering at one side, tempted him. 

The little old milkman, whom he had seen the 
week before, was crossing the road with a shining 
tin can in each hand, filled with warm foaming milk 

Roe Mason halted, and asked permission to 
sketch the house. 

“Hey,” said the old man, lowering the cans to 
the ground, and placing his open hand behind his 
ear to hold the sound. 

The request was repeated in a louder tone of 
voice. 

“Why, certingly, certingly, but what in tarna- 
tion you can see round here to make a pict.er outen, 
is more n I can tell. But hold on, stranger, won’t 


KISMET. 


85 


you come in an’ have a bite first? You look kinder 
tuckered out. A good bowl of warm bread an’ milk 
’ll brace you up all right. I’m jest agoin’ to try 
some myself, before I start out with my load.” 

Roe took a rapid inventory of his stomach’s 
necessities. His dinner hour had long since passed 
by, and now that he was reminded of it, he realized 
that he was hungry, and thankfully accepted the 
old man’s hospitality. 

“ Turn your hoss loose an’ let him feed around 
in the yard. The ole woman will have the table sot 
agin we git in there. Mebbe you’d like to wash up 
a bit first. A feller’s apt to git dusty an’ gritty like 
this time o’ year,” and he led the way to a wooden 
bench which was just outside the kitchen door. 

Here, Datie,” he called, through an open win- 
dow, “ here’s yer milk,” and a pair of plump hands 
reached through the opening and drew the buckets 
inside. 

The tin wash-basin was filled with fresh water 
from the trough under the windmill, and the old 
man sousled his head and face, with much unneces- 
sary sputtering and noise, while his guest was 
removing his hat and coat. 

A long roller towel, fastened to the back of the 
woodshed door, did duty for both. 

“ Come on, now, stranger, an’ we’ll see what the 
ole woman’s got fer us.” 


86 


MARFA. 


A tall, black eyed, rosy cheeked woman came 
through an open door as they entered the kitchen. 

“Datie, this ’ere stranger’s hungry. Can you 
give him a bowl of bread and milk?” and the old 
man nudged his guest, as he pointed to the already 
prepared lunch on the kitchen table. 

“ He is welcome, John, to what little we have. 
I saw him coming, and put on an extra bowl,” said 
the woman, in a cheery voice, at the same time 
placing two splint -bottom chairs opposite the bowls. 

“ I knowed ’twould be all right when I asked 
him to come in. Set to, now stranger, an’ don’t be 
bashful.” 

And when Roe Mason drew the chair up to the 
table and sat down before the tempting spread, he 
mentally stored the picture among his material for 
future use. 

The long, thin slices of spongy bread were criss- 
crossed on- the small blue and white platter. A 
glass dish held the small shell-shaped pats of butter, 
and a four-storied section of honey was dripping its 
sweetness on a china plate. The two large china 
bowls were filled with the foaming milk. In the 
center, giving color to the picture, was a long- 
necked vase, filled with pale green asparagus 
boughs, and drooping meadow lilies. 

When the simple meal was finished, Roe Mason 
wondered why it had tasted so good ; and it pleased 
the old man wonderfully when he told him that it 


KISMET. 87 

was the best meal he had eaten since the hungry 
days of boyhood. 

The kind woman gave him a cordial invitation 
to repeat his visit when convenient; and after 
watching the old man climb into his cart arid drive 
away with his load, he finished the sketch and 
mounted his horse, well satisfied with his day’s 
work. 

The sun, draped in a rosy mist, was hovering 
above the tree-tops on the western side of the road. 

He stopped in front of the old ruined house in 
the grove and uttered an exclamation of surprise 
and pleasure, while his face lighted with enthusiasm. 

The sun threw the moving shadows of the tall 
trees on the roof. The projecting gables were 
fringed with the woodbine which crawled out and 
in the crevices between the shrunken boards, crept 
upon the roof, and even peeped down the dingy 
chimney. 

He followed the lines with his practiced eye 
until he reached the highest gable. 

Just under this was a prett}^ dormer window, the 
uppei half covered with the green vines. 

Some moving object behind the glass attracted 
his attention. 

“ My God !” he exclaimed, “ am I dreaming 
again?” 

He rubbed his eyes and looked at the window 
carefully. 


88 


MARFA. 


It was Carol. 

She appeared to be gazing earnestly at some 
object on the river, and he doubted that she saw 
him. 

He sprang from the horse and fastened it to a 
projecting rail in the fence. He was wide awake 
now, and thoroughly in earnest. 

He opened the rude gate and hurried up the 
grass-grown path that led to the door. It trembled 
with age when he rapped on it with his knuckles. 

He waited a moment, and then repeated the 
operation more forcibly. 

Nothing but the hollow echoes resounding 
through the empty rooms reached his ears. 

He shook the door impatiently, and was half 
tempted to break it down with his foot. 

Then he turned and walked along the path to 
get another view of the window, but the face was 
not there. 

He rushed around the house, peering among the 
vines, and searching for some possible door or 
window where she might have escaped. 

He found nothing but the great wall of rough 
boards, covered with the green drapery. 

He tried the door once more, and then turned 
reluctantly away, loath to leave the spot with the 
mystery unsolved. 

His horse gave him a little neigh of welcome as 
he came out through the gate. He looked up and 


KISMET. 


89 


down the road as he had done once before, and it 
struck him as a remarkable coincidence when he 
saw the old milkman again, with his load of rattling 
cans. 

“ Hello! here we are agin,” sounded the familiar 
voice, “ How did you come on with the picter? 
But wh^it in tarnation ails ye? You look as if you 
mought have seen a ghost.” 

Roe Mason’s attempt to appear natural was a 
dismal failure. He mounted his horse, and, pointing 
carelessly toward the old house, said: 

“ Who owns that place?’* 

“Wal some says one thing, an’ some says 
another. But I kinder reckon it belongs to a feller 
named Payne. Mark Payne’s his full name, I be- 
lieve.” 

“Does he live there?” and Roe Mason tried in 
vain to suppress the eagerness in his voice. 

“Wal, yes, when he’s to hum, but that ain’t 
very offen now-a-days. You see he’s one of them 
are rovin’ sort o’ chaps, what can’t be contented 
nowhere. He’s gone sometimes for a year or so, 
an’ then he’s here for a spell. Off an’ on like.” 

Roe Mason drew his fingers through the horse’s 
mane, and looked away toward the river, before 
asking the next question. 

“ Is he home now ? ” 

“Wal I can’t say for sartin; as likely ’s not he 
is, but I ain’t seen nothin’ of him.” 


9 ° 


MARFA. 


Roe Mason reined the horse into the road. 

“ Hain’t goin, are ye ? Call in when you’re 
passin’ some time.” 

“ Thanks,” was the answer, as the horse started 
on a gallop. 

“ I wonder what in thunderation ails him,” said 
the old man, looking after him. “ He seemed a 
likely enough chap till now. Can’t be as he’s been 
drinkin’. Git up, Ned,” and he jogged along 
homeward, wondering what Datie would say, when 
he told her of their guest’s queer behavior, 


CHAPTER XIV 


PARTED. 


u I went to dig a grave for love. 

But the earth was so stiff and cold { 

That tho’ I strove thro’ the bitter night, 

I could not break the mold. 

** And I said, * Must he lie in my house in state ? 

And stay in his wonted place? 

Must I have him with me another day, 

With that awful change in his face’?” 

“ O, let me see the sketch,” cried Carol, running 
down the steps when she saw him. u Why are you 
so late ? I’ve been watching and waiting for the 
last half hour, and I thought you would never 
come.” 

He drew the sketch from his port-folio and 
reached it out toward her without speaking, but in 
her eagerness to get a glimpse of it, she failed to 
notice his manner. 

“ O, Roe,” she exclaimed, “ isn’t it lovely ? and 
the cute little donkey, too. How did you manage 
to get him ? ” 

Receiving no answer, she raised her eyes from 
91 


9 2 


MARFA. 


the sketch, and met the same look on his face that 
she had seen once before. 

u Why, Roe ! what is the trouble now ? ” she 
cried. “ Have you been dreaming again ? ” and she 
laughed uneasily, while a shivering fear crept 
through her veins, and chilled her happiness. 

But he remained silent. He had thought it all 
over on his way home and had arrived at the 
decision that she was deceiving him. Her pretty, 
mischievous explanation of his first experience, was 
a mere ruse to blind him, so he said to himself ; and 
he had decided that he would not lead her on to 
further deception by asking for an explanation of 
the later occurrence, but would quietly leave the 
place at the first opportunity. 

He shuddered as he thought how dark and 
dreary the future would be, with no thought of 
Carol in his plans. 

He dared not look at her just now. The wound 
of his sundered hopes was too new. He walked 
steadily forward, looking out over the water, and 
striking savagely with his cane at the stunted heads 
of white clover that crowded up to the graveled 
walk. 

Just then he felt a warm spot on his cold hand, 
and looking down he saw the pink fingers resting 
lightly on his bronzed knuckles. His eyes lingered 
for a moment on the shining ring, then he slowly 


PARTED. 


93 


raised them along the plump arm, over the rounded 
shoulder to the quivering lips. He looked into her 
oyes with a reproachful expression which he made 
no effort to conceal. 

Then he drew his hand from the soft pressure 
and walked hurriedly away. He wandered around 
for an hour or more, until it became quite dark. 

Wearied at last with excitement and repressed 
emotions, he threw himself listlessly on a seat in a 
little alcove, formed by some low shrubbery. 

A slight movement by his side drew his atten- 
tion; the rays from an electric light shone full on 
Carol’s pale face. 

A pitiful mockery of a smile lighted it, when she 
looked in his eyes. 

u Roe,” she said, u you must tell me how I have 
offended you, I don’t deserve this treatment.” 

Hei voice was low and vibrated with unshed 
tears, there was a soft fire in her eyes and her 
cheeks were aglow. 

He gazed at her curiously, and shifted uneasily 
in his seat. He was undecided whether to demand 
an explanation, or leave her with the mystery 
unsolved. 

A glistening tear rolled slowly down her cheek 
and fell unheeded on her clasped hands. 

The silent messenger touched his feelings, and 
in an instant he had decided. 

“ Carol, do you know Mark Payne ? ” 


94 


MARFA. 


“Why certainly I do,” and a surprised look 
brightened her face. 

“ When did you see him last ? ” was his next 
question. 

“ He was in Florida last winter. He spent some 
weeks in Escambria, and I saw him quite often/’ 

“ And you have not seen him since last winter? ” 

He looked squarely in her face, and the look 
frightened her. 

“No, sir! I have not.” There was a tone of 
defiance in her voice, that only served to confirm 
his suspicions. 

“ Girl, how dare you tell me that, when I saw 
you to-night, just before sunset, in Mark Payne’s 
house.” 

She sprang from the seat, and stamped her slip- 
pered foot impatiently. 

“Roe, ’tis false! I have not been away from 
the grounds to-day, and I think you are cruel and 
unkind to treat me in this way.” 

In half an hour the train was jolting along in 
the shadows of the tall forest trees, and Roe Mason, 
stretched out on a seat, with his hat pulled down 
over his eyes, was trying to convince himself that 
he had been just. 

Carol watched him until the darkness swallowed 
him up. 

Stunned and bewildered, she then turned as in a 


PARTED, 95 

dream, her senses all afloat on a great sea of 
mystery. 

She wondered if she was the same, and how life 
would seem to her now. 

She never knew just how she reached her room. 

When Hannah found her, she was stretched 
across the bed in a half-unconscioUs condition, giving 
no sign of life, save an occasional low moan. 

“ A mental shock,” was the physician’s verdict. 

Days and days of weary, and sometimes almost 
hopeless watching, followed, but youth triumphed 
at last, and she again roamed over the familiar 
grounds — but alas ! how wan and wasted. 

Her first thought on recovering consciousness, 
was of her father. 

u He shall never know,” she said. 

And when he questioned her concerning Roe 
Mason’s sudden departure, she spoke of urgent 
business. 

Perhaps he doubted her explanation. If so, she 
never knew it; but she was conscious of a strange 
tenderness in his manner that was very like a heal- 
ing balm to her wounded heart, and from the depths 
of her voiceless grief there arose a line of her 
father’s favorite song, 

» Tis darkest just before the dawning/' 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE SMUGGLERS. 


The old house in the grove was the scene of 
another midnight meeting. The rude seats sur- 
rounded the lantern which stood on the floor. 

French Joe drew a large silver watch from his 
pocket, looked at it a moment with a very wise 
expression on his wrinkled face, and said, “ Boys, I 
tol’ you now while I got plenty time, what you gon’ 
do, I git word to-day from de boss. He come 
from Victoree. Dat’s long, long way, far from 
here. He bring beeg lot of de sleepy stuff. Dem 
Chinaman down in Californy, dey gon pay good 
price for dat.” 

“ What dey do wid dat, Joe ?” said Dan, inter- 
rupting him. 

“You ax me dat, Danyell ? You work all dis 
time on de beezness, an’ don’ dnow what for dey use 
dat stuff, I tol’ you den. Dem Chinaman put dat 
in de pipe an’ smoke it. Dat make de drunk come.” 

“Humph !” said Dan, “dat’s new kin’ of whis- 
key den.” 


96 


THE SMUGGLERS. 


97 


u Maybe — maybe not. I never try it myself, but 
dat’s what de boss tol’ me. But never min’ dat 
now. Hark what I tol’ you. De boss say we gon 
take good care. Some blaggard tol’ de constable 
an’ dey gon watch us close, dis time. Dat stuff gon 
be on de udder side to-morrow night, on de same 
place. I don’ tol’ you where dat ees, I know 
myself, an’ dat’s ’nuff. Now, Tomah, I tol’ you 
what you do. You git dat hoss all ready. Make 
every ting strong an’ all right. Den you stay by 
him, till Danyell come wid de stuff. Now Danyell, 
you hark what I toP you. When we come on de 
cove all right, you take dat stuff on de hoss an’ ride 
to de railroad. Dat’s ’bout ten or eight mile I tink. 
You go straight wes’ till you fin’ de track, den you 
go south till you fin’ de station. You see dere a 
man waitin’. When he come up to de hoss an* say 
4 Chinaman,’ you know den he’s all right. Pass over 
de stuff an’ come home. You understan’ what I 
say ? You make meestake, den we all go on de 
lockup. You hear ?” said he, bringing his hand 
down suddenly on the unsuspecting lad’s knee. 

Dan sprang to his feet and rubbed the suffering 
member for a moment, while an angry glare lighted 
his dull gray eyes. 

Joe met his look with a provoking laugh. 

“I wake you up. Dat’s all. Now hark — 
everybody. To-morrow night when de bell strike 
ten, you, Jake an’ Danyell, come on de cove. Make 


MARFA. 


sure nobody see you. Come by de bush, an’ be 
careful. I gon make de boat all ready, an’ wait for 
you close by de shore.” 

“ But who’s gwine watch an’ make de signal, 
Massa Joe?” asked Jake. 

“Dat’s what I gon tol’ you now, Jake. You 
make dat gal take your place dis time.” 

Jake moved uneasily in his seat. His feelings 
arose in rebellion against this arrangement, but fear 
kept him silent. 

Joe commanded, and experience taught his well- 
trained minions the folly of disobedience, 

“ What you say, ole man? you gon let dat gal 
come?” 

“ I dunno, Massa Joe, but I spec’ I’ll haf to. Dar 
aint no one else to do de work.” 

“ Dat’s right, ole man,” said Joe. “ You make ’er 
go wid you to-morrow mornin’, an’ show ’er how 
she gon fix de light. Den she make no mistake.” 

Poor Jake! Already, in imagination, he saw his 
darling all alone, at the mouth of the cove, awaiting 
the sound of the midnight bell. 

The following night settled down over grove 
and river, bringing a darkness that could almost be 
felt. The low rumbling thunder in the west told of 
a distant storm. 

An occasional flash of lightning revealed the 
wily smuggler seated in a boat at the mouth of the 


THE SMUGGLERS. 99 

cove. The oars were balanced in the row-locke, 
and he held them, all ready to start. 

The boat rose and fell on the little wavelets that 
lapped the shore, while he peered out into the dark- 
ness, his keen eyes and ears on the alert for the 
faintest scent of danger. 

He arose to his feet with the first sound of the 
village bell, and counted the strokes on his fingers. 

“ Dat’s ten o’clock,” he whispered. “ Dey’ll 
come soon now.” 

Just then two moving figures emerged from some 
place of concealment, and noiselessly approached 
the shore. 

Joe turned the boat’s side to the bank, they 
stepped in, and were soon rising and falling on the 
waves, silent as statues, until they were well out in 
the middle of the river. 

“Well, ole man,” said Joe, “you fix dat all 
right wid the gal?” 

“Yes, Massa Joe, I dun dat for shuah, but I feel 
kinder timersome ’bout it. Dat’s gwine ter be 
pritty hard ting for my little gal. ’Sides dat, Ise 
kinder ’feard we’s gwine hab trubble to-night.” 

“Wat’s de matter now, ole man?” said Joe 
angrily. “You croak like a crow. You tink too 
much ’bout dat gal. You ten’ your beezness. She’s 
gon be all right.” 

“No, hones’ truf. ’Taint all ’bout de little gal, 
Massa Joe, what ’sturbs me to-night, but Ise kinder 


IOO 


MARFA. 


’spicious like. I seen sumfin’ to-day what’s mighty 
curis, an’ I dun thought Ise gwine tol’ you.” 

“Go ahead den. ToP me quick. What’s dat 
you see, hey?” 

“ HoP on, Massa Joe. Ise gwine tol’ you. I 
went out fishin’ airly dis mornin’. When I come 
befront de cove I see two men walkin’ round, peek- 
in’ behin’ de trees, an’ kickin’ over de leaves on de 
groun’, an’ Ise dun shuah one of dem pussuns was 
de sheriff-man what lives in de lockup. When dey 
seen me, dey walks off kinder keerless like, toward 
de road. You tink dat means trubble, Massa Joe?” 

Joe let the oars drag in the water, and hung his 
head. He half suspected that Jake’s story was a 
ruse, to save the girl from the task he had assigned 
her. But how was he to prove it? Much valuable 
time would be lost if he returned to the shore. He 
thought of Tom with the horse, of the accomplice 
at the station, of the valuable parcel on the Cana- 
dian shore, and he shook his head. 

“No, no, Jake — you make meestake. Dat’s 
only dem hunter from de town. I hear some quail 
’mong de grass in de cove, dis morning Dey look 
for dat. Puli de oar queek now, boys. You see 
dat boat?” 

The big hull of the steamer looked alarmingly 
near, but they escaped, to be drenched and tossed 
about by the angry waves which she left behind her. 


THE SMUGGLERS. 


IOI 


When they reached the shore, Joe jumped out 
of the boat and disappeared. 

Jake sat down on the small seat in the bow, and 
looked over the great stretch of ' water. His 
thoughts were with that lonely watcher who sat in 
the darkness, with the lamp by her side and the 
matches in her apron pocket, awaiting the midnight 
bell. 

Dan paced up and down the beach, occasionally 
indulging in a low whistle. 

“Jake,” said he at last, halting near the boat, 
“you b’lieve what you tell Joe ’bout de sheriff 
man ? ” 

“ Course I duz, boy. Massa Joe talk nudder 
way, but I’se sartin shuah dat’s de sheriff man I seed. 
Might be he’s huntin’, but I’se kinder spicious. 
Sumfin’ tells me we’s gwine hab trubble to-night, 
an’ I feel a’ most shuah it’s me or my gal what’s 
gwine ter suffer. De fac’ is, Dan, I’se gittin sick of 
dis kin’ of work. ’Tain’t jes right an hones’. 
Don’t say nuffin’ to Joe about it; but I’se made up 
my min’ dis’ll be my las’ trip. Pse gwine quit de 
business. When it gits so dat little gal’s got to 
help, I tink it’s ’bout time ole Jake duz sumfin’ else 
fer a livin’.” 

The trembling voice told the depth of the old 
man’s feelings. 

A low “ hist ” warned them of Joe’s approach. 
He came staggering toward them, with a square 


102 


MARFA. 


parcel in his arms. Giving a sigh of relief when 
he straightened up, after placing it in the bottom of 
the boat, he said: 

u I tol you what, boys, dat’s a beeg load for a 
small load,” and he wiped the drops from his face 
with the back of his hand and looked out over the 
water for a moment. 

“ No light yit, Danyell ? ” he asked. 

“ No light on de cove, Joe, but I see bright light 
move roun’ an’ roun’ on de middle groun’.” 

“ Wat — wat you say,” said Joe, excitedly, “ you 
see it now, Danyell ? ” 

“ No, I don’ see it now. It go out before you 
come.” 

“ Dat’s bad sign: — bad sign boys,” and Joe shook 
his head slowly. “ Dat means bad luck for some- 
body.” 

“O, Massa Joe!” Jake’s teeth were chattering 
with an audible sound when he spoke, “ is you 
sartin shuah of dat ?” 

“ Don’ git scare ole man. May be plenty more 
folks see dat. I no say dat’s bad luck for us. I 
say for somebody. Hark an’ I tole you all I know 
’bout de beezness. 

“ Long — long time ago, dat spot what you call 
de middle groun’, was a leetle islan’, where de bear 
an’ de deer stop an’ res’ when dey swim de reever. 

“ Dat’s where de beeg chief Kenesaw live wid 


THE SMUGGLERS. 


I03 


his gal. Waywea, he call ’er. She’s fine squaw, 
tall an’ straight like de pine. 

“Bimeby dere come a noder chief, Ogemaw, 
what live on de Deer Islan’ up de reever, an’ he ax 
her fader he can take ’er for he’s squaw. 

“ Ole Kenesaw he tink dat’s all right, but Way- 
wea she don’ like it. She already promis’ de young 
brave Wawbeek she gon be he’s squaw. 

“When Ogemaw come to bring ’er on he’s 
weegwam he no can fin’ her. Den he’s mad, an’ 
he make beeg fight wid her fader, an’ when he 
paddle away in he’s canoe he carry ole Kenesaw’s 
scalp on he’s belt. 

“One day, two, three year after dat, Waywea 
she come on de islan’ agin, an’ she carry her papoose 
on her back. 

“Wawbeek he’s gon on de happy hunting groun’ 
an’ leave her all lone, so she come by her fader. 

“ She go on de weegwam, nobody dere. She 
look up de reever an’ she see tall Injin stan’ up on 
he’s canoe an’ paddle for de island’. 

“ When he come close on de shore she see dat’s 
Ogemaw. 

“ When he see her he’s eyes day shine like fire, 
an’ he give de beeg war whoop an’ jump out de 
canoe. 

“ Den she run like de deer to de weegwam an’ 
call de great Manitou to save ’er. 

“Jes den de islan’ sink down in de water an’ 


104 


MARFA. 


drown ’em all, Ogemaw, Waywea an’ de papoose. 

“ Ever since dat time de spirit of dat chief stay 
on dat spot an’ look for Waywea. When he stay 
on de dark dat’s all right, but when he light he’s 
torch, den boys look out, dat’s bad.” 

Just at this point in the story the muffled sound 
of the village bell tolling out the midnight hour was 
followed by the faithful sentinel’s signal. 

“Jump in boys. Dat gal’s all right after all. 
Hey Jake ?” 

Jake pulled the oars with a steady had and was 
silent. 


























































































































She cut her way through the silvery path.”- Page 57. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


IN THE COVE. 


Jake had carefully instructed Marfa in the task 
which Joe had assigned her. 

He had also provided her a shelter from the 
midnight air. A thrifty bunch of alders grew on 
the bank of the cove near its mouth. 

Of this he formed an arbor by cutting out the 
center and weaving the long, pliable twigs together 
for a roof. 

He brought a comfortable chair from the cabin, 
and here, wrapped in Mumsy’s plaid woolen shawl, 
the brave girl took her seat soon after the boat left 
the cove. 

She heard the measured thud of the oars grow- 
ing fainter and fainter in the distance, and then 
ceasing altogether. 

A smothered rasping sound told her that they 
had reached the shore and drawn the boat out on 
the beach. 


107 


108 MARFA. 

And now began that long, lonely vigil, with no 
company but her own sweet thoughts. 

The river, where “ the sun peered at noon, and 
the stars peered at night,” stretched out before her 
like a great murmuring plain. 

The lights of the downward bound steamer, 
twinkling away in the distance, were the only signs 
of life in all that great gulf of darkness. 

She drew the shawl closely around her shoulders, 
and brushed the clinging locks behind her ears, that 
she might catch the sound from the first stroke of 
the bell. 

She heard the whip-poor-will in the air above 
her head give his drum-tap signal as a warning of 
his approach to his waiting mate, and then she 
heard the mournful plaint in answer from some dis- 
tant forest tree. 

Now and then the rustling of a falling leaf, or the 
snapping of a brittle twig beneath the stealthy foot- 
fall of some midnight marauder, drew her attention. 

If the grim spirits of the red warriors, whose 
bones were crumbling under the sod, silently glided 
among the trees and bushes, as was their custom 
when in the flesh, she knew it not. 

The water, with a monotonous swish-swash, 
worked its way into the sand and dirt of the bank 
among the bones, separating them gradually. 

Now and then she heard a splash, which she 
mistook for the gambol of a frisky fish, and some 


IN THE COVE. I09 

part of a crumbling frame — a skull perhaps — would 
start on its journey seaward. 

She kept her silent vigil, all unconscious that 
other eyes besides those of her friends on the oppo- 
site shore, were anxiously awaiting her signal. 

And now let us go back a few hours and visit 
the County Sheriff, impatiently awaiting the arrival 
of some of his subjects. 

Seated in his office with his hat and cane near 
him, he watched the door with a frown on his face. 

“ Confound it,” he muttered, “if they don’t hurry 
up we shall miss the rogues after all. They were 
to start at ten o’clock and it’s after that time now.” 

A shuffling and scraping of feet outside the door 
interrupted his grumbling, and he answered the rap 
with a hearty 

“ Come in, boys.” 

The five or six constables and deputies, appointed 
for the occasion, nearly filled the little room. 

“Late boys, late,” said the Sheriff, placing his 
hat on his head, and with the cane in his hand 
moving toward the door. 

“Plenty of time, boss. They don’t leave the 
other side till the bell strikes twelve.” 

How they had learned the plans of the offenders 
is best known to the initiated. 

And now while Marfa was keeping her lonely 
watch they were scattered around the mouth of the 
cove awaiting her signal. 


no 


MARFA. 


Cling, clang, came the peal of the bell through 
the murky night. 

Marfa sprang to her feet and bent her head to 
catch the sound more distinctly. She counted the 
twelve strokes and then looked around as Jake had 
told her to do. 

But how could they expect the poor child to see 
in that black dark, and how was she to know of the 
danger that lurked so near. 

She took the match from her pocket, drew it 
across the rough stone, which Jake had placed by 
her chair, and touched the wick. 

It flared up and revealed the brave girl to the 
eyes of the astonished officers. 

What a transformation! Instead of old Jake, 
whom they had been informed they should find 
here, this young girl stood before them, like some 
beautiful vision. 

They saw her step out from the clump of alders 
and give the signal. Then they heard the little 
u whiff ” as she blew out the light, and she dis- 
appeared. 

A superstitious feeling overcame them for a 
moment, but they threw it aside and silently drew 
near the mouth of the cove, where they halted, 
and awaited the coming of the boat. 

Marfa’s quick ear caught the sound of the dip- 
ping oars, and she clapped her hands together and 


IN THE COVE. 


Ill 


softly laughed, when she thought of how well she 
had performed her task. 

Nearer and nearer came the boat, each stroke 
sounding more distinct, until she could see the mov- 
ing shape in the distance, a little darker than the 
darkness. 

She started toward the shore just as they en- 
tered the cove — Joe half standing, half kneeling, 
with all his powers concentrated on the manage- 
ment of the boat. 

The silence was weighty, unbroken save by the 
pattering of the drops as they fell from the uplifted 
oars. 

Suddenly, without a warning word, they heard 
a great crackling of bushes and tramping of feet. 

“Surrender, you villainous smugglers! We’ve 
caught you at last,” were the ominous words that 
greeted the startled crew. Commands, threats and 
oaths followed, a perfect medly of sounds from the 
attacking party. 

Joe dropped to the seat and grasped the oars. 

“ Back, back boys,” he said, “ back in de 
reever.” 

“ O, Massa Joe,” cried Jake, clutching his arm, 
° fetch my little gal aboard firs’. Don’t fo’ de good 
Lawd’s sake leave dat poah chil’ behin’.” 

Joe had a kind heart beneath his rough exterior. 
With a quick movement he forced the bow of the 
boat to the little point where Marfa stood, and in 


1 1 2 


MARFA. 


obedience to Jake’s whispered summons she stepped 
over the side.” 

“ Now, back’er queek, boys,” said Joe excitedly. 
“We no let dem blaggards ketch us dis time.” 

The officers reached the little point a moment 
too late. 

“ Halt! ” cried their leader, “ or I’ll shoot.” 

A derisive laugh from Joe met the threat, 

A half dozen flashes and reports sent a shower 
of bullets after the departing boat. 

Then the officers left the scene grumbling, and 
finding fault with themselves and each other. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE CAPTURE. 


With Joe at the oars and Dan wielding the 
paddle they were soon out in the middle of the 
river. 

“ Dat’ll do now,” said Joe, and dropping the 
oars he threw off the hood of his tarpaulin, drew 
the back of his hand across his dripping forehead, 
and snapped his fingers to rid them of the moisture. 

“I tell you what boys, dat’s pretty close shave 
an’ no meestake. Lucky ting for us dey no have a 
boat. Dey have us in de trap for sure, den,” 

Dan drew in the paddle and laid it across the 
boat. 

“Wat we gon do now, Joe ? We gon try an’ 
make de lan’ agin ? ” 

No, no, Danyell. We gon let ’er float. De 
current take us down de reever. Bimeby, when 
we git below de town, may be we try agin. Dem 
blaggard git sleep an’ go home by dat time, den we 
be all right. De ole man don’ go far out de way 
when he git scare ’bout de Sheriff man. Hey ! 


MARFA. 


II 4 

Jake/’ said he, bringing his open palm dawn on the 
wooly head with a sounding slap. 

An exclamation and groan followed. 

“ What’s de matter, ole man? You no git over 
your scare yit ? You git your little gal all right. 
What for you no speak ? ” 

Marfa arose from the bottom of the boat and sat 
down on the narrow stern seat by his side. 

“ Uncle Jake,” she said, stroking the trembling 
black hand that rested on his knee, “ were all safe 
now. Why don’t you speak ?” 

He shook his head and raised his hand to his 
side, mumbling something which she could not un- 
derstand. 

“ Speak — speak, ole man,” said Joe, growing im- 
patient. 

“ I’se shot, honey,” and clasping the little hand 
in his own he lifted it to his side. 

“ Poor Uncle Jake,” she cried, the great tears 
rolling down her cheeks. “He’s shot! My hand 
is wet with blood — with uncle Jake’s blood!” and 
she drew it shudderingly away, and let it drag in 
the water. 

His head sank on his breast, he swayed side- 
ways, and was in danger of falling overboard, but 
she caught his arm and held him until Joe came to 
her assistance. 

Mumsys shawl was folded for a pillow, and the 


THE CAPTURE. 115 

nearly unconscious man was placed in the bottom 
of the boat. 

Marfa sat by his head and bathed his face with 
the cool water which she dipped up in her hand, 

u Poor Uncle Jake,” she repeated over and over 
again, when the lightning revealed him, motionless 
and apparently lifeless. 

The storm had advanced from the distant west, 
and hung threateningly over their heads. They 
were floating with the current, the oars trailing 
from the row-lock, and no attempt being make to 
guide the boat. 

On and they drifted, the silence only broken by 
an occasional low moan from the dark form in the 
bottom of the boat. 

They passed the little city and drew near the 
grounds that surrounded the hotel. The electric 
jets threw out long streaks of light over which they 
must pass. Realizing the danger of being seen 
from the shore, while crossing these, Joe took the 
oars and made a circuit around them, and then 
turned the boat shoreward. 

They were opposite the little station now, from 
which a freight train was slowly starting out. 

“ Danyell,” said he , 11 we go on de shore now, pritty 
queek. You gon take de stuff on de back street 
troo’ de town. When you fin’ Tomah, take de hoss 
an’ go on ’bout your beezness, like I tol you before. 


ii 6 


MARFA, 


I gon stay on de boat, an’ fetch Jake an’ de gal 
home.” 

But “ The best laid plans of mice and men,” etc. 

The discomfited officers mounted the horses 
which they had fastened to the roadside fence, and 
started slowly homeward. 

They felt sore over their defeat, and they strode 
along through the darkness, regretting the loss of 
the reward they were so near winning. 

Just as they reached the brow of the hill that 
overlooked the river, a vivid flash lighted the water 
from shore to shore, and the little boat, a mere dot 
on the moving surface, was plainly seen. 

They checked their horses and waited for the 
next flash. Yes, there it was, floating with the cur- 
rent. 

They watched it until they were sure no effort 
was being made to again reach the shore, then they 
gave the restive horses the word, and away they 
galloped, stopping at each intersection of a cross 
street, and there awaiting the next flash, thus keep- 
ing the fugitives in sight. 

“ I’ll bet a quarter they don’t try to land till 
they get below town,” said one of the party as they 
drew their horses up at one of these crossings. 

“ I agree with you,” said the Sheriff, “ and I’ll 
tell you what to do. Two of you go ahead and get 
a boat, and be all ready to come in behind them 
when they try to come ashore, and will go along 


THE CAPTURE. 1 1 7 

slow and keep them in sight. We’ll have them in 
a trap this time, I’m quite certain.” 

The little boat moved slowly shoreward. Joe’s 
head turned from side to side, as if hung on a pivot, 
his sharp, glistening eyes peering into the darkness. 

He dipped the oars carefully into the water, now 
and then whispering a word of caution to Dan. 

Marfa sat on the seat by Jake’s head, almost 
stupified with grief. It was a strange experience 
for the girl. When she tried to think of the excit- 
ing events of the night, her thoughts confusedly 
came back, again and again, to her great sorrow. 

Her best friend was wounded, perhaps dying. 
How could she go on without him, and she would 
silently cry and stroke the limp black hand. 

The boat came to a sudden stop as the bow 
ploughed into the yielding sand. 

“ Now, Danyell,” Joe whispered, jump queek, 
an’ take good care of de stuff. 

Dan stepped out of the boat. He gave a fright- 
ened cry as he felt the grasp of a strong pair of hands 
on his shoulders, while he was relieved of the pre- 
cious parcel. 

Joe’s ready wit deserted him. He tried to shove 
the boat back in the river, but when he heard the 
sound of oars behind him he sank to the seat and 
folded his hands hopelessly. 

The shackles were slipped around Dan’s wrists, 
and then the officers turned to the boat. 


MARFA. 


Il8 

Joe arose without a word. He felt that resist- 
ance was useless. 

“ Hallo ! what does this mean ? ” said one of the 
men, when he saw the dark form at their* feet 

“ Get out of this,” and he drew back his foot as 
if to kick the motionless object, but dropped it 
again when he heard the pleading voice: “ Please 
mister, don’t hurt him. He’s shot, poor man. He 
can’t get up.” 

The Sheriff turned to Joe. 

“ What does this mean, you French rascal, you? 
Who is that in the boat ? ” 

“ Dat’s ole Jake, what live up on de grove. 
Some blaggard shoot ’im. He no speak, he no 
move. I think he’s hurt pritty bad.” 

“What are you doing with that girl in the 
boat ?” 

“ O, dat’s Jake’s own little girl. She don do 
nothing. You gon let her go, Mr, Sheriff.” 

There was a short consultation and then Jake 
was lifted from his hard couch, and borne away, 
followed by Marfa and the closely guarded prison- 
ers. 












CHAPTER XVIII. 


THE LETTER. 


The prisoners were placed in an underground 
room and closely guarded, and Jake was taken to 
the servants’ quarters, where medical aid was given 
him. 

Marfa groped and staggered along behind her 
conductor, wondering if her terrible dream would 
never end. 

She saw an open door, and felt a hand on her 
shoulder, gently shoving her into a room, and then 
she heard the click of a key behind her. She stum- 
bled against a bed and fell across it. 

The hum of excitement following the arrival of 
such strange guests, at so unusual an hour, had sub- 
sided and the long corridors were dim and deserted. 

The threatened storm had burst at last. The 
wind shrieked around the corners, and sent the big 
drops over and under the verandas. 

A tall figure in a trailing white robe came out 
from a shadowy corner and began pacing up and 
down, muttering and staring uneasily at the closed 
121 


122 


MARFA. 


doors as she passed them. To and fro she paced, 
her low mutterings gradually changing to a wierd 
chant. 

“By the pricking of my thumbs, something 
precious this way comes.” 

The thin fingers were interlaced, and she rubbed 
her thumbs together in a peculiar manner, as she 
repeated the words again and again. 

At last she seemed to weary of this exercise, 
and as she paced in front of the long row of doors 
she reached out her hand and softly turned the 
knob of each. 

At length one opening on the veranda yielded 
to her touch, and she passed out into the storm. 

The wind caught her light garments and twisted 
them about her limbs, and blew the water from the 
dripping roof into her face and eyes, nearly blind- 
ing her. 

She groped along near the wall, clinging to the 
shutters of the French windows as she passed them. 

She clutched at one as a fierce blast staggered 
her, and it swung outward. She unhooked the 
sash, stepped inside and closed it behind her. 

Mr. Eastman was aroused from his morning 
nap while the dawn was yet gray. 

A timid knock at the door, and Carol’s voice 
half smothered in tears brought him to his feet. 

“ O, papa ! where is mamma ? ” she cried. 
“Hannah says she’s not in her room.” 


THE LETTER. 


I2 3 


“God pity her!” and Mr. Eastman hastily^ pre- 
pared for the search. 

Everything at the boat-house was found undis- 
turbed, and with a lighter heart he went over the 
grounds. The servants were aroused, grumbling 
at the early call, and no nook or corner was over- 
looked. 

He took Carol, who was overcome with grief 
and excitement, to her own room, and left her with 
Hannah.” 

He then walked along the corridors, hardly 
knowing what to do next, when he heard a low, 
crooning noise, which sounded strangely familiar. 
It appeared to come from behind a closed door 
opposite him. 

A key was fitted, and he entered the room, and 
there sat the wanderer in a low chair by the side of 
the .bed. 

Her damp robe fell away from her slippered 
feet and lay in a twisted heap by her side. 

Her bright eyes looked out from her rumpled 
hair, which hung in a half coiled mass on her 
shoulders. 

She motioned him away with her hand when he 
entered, and whispered: 

“Hist! she sleeps.” 

He followed her eyes as she turned them toward 
the bed. He stepped backward in astonishment. 
What was the meaning of this? 


124 


MARFA. 


He had just left Carol in her room, mourning 
her lost mother, and here she was sound asleep 
with the mother guarding her. 

He looked at the two for a moment, and then 
went out and locked the door behind him, the 
monotonous crooning still ringing in his ears. 

He went straight to his daughter’s room. 

“ O, papa. Have you found her?” 

“ Come with me my child.” She was awed by 
his manner. 

“Is mamma dead?” she thought, but she dared 
not ask him. 

She felt relieved when she entered the room, 
and saw hei mother sitting with her back to the 
door, and heard the familiar crooning lullaby. 

Mr. Eastman looked at Carol and then at the 
sleeping girl. 

Carol looked at the girl and then at her re- 
flected image in the mirror opposite her. Then she 
walked round where she could look in her mother’s 
eyes. 

Th6 crooning ceased and a puzzled expression 
swept over the pale face as the poor lady looked 
from one to the other, and then with a piercing 
shriek she fell from the chair. 

Hannah was summoned, and lifting her mistress 
in her strong arms, she carried her away. 

The shriek aroused Marfa. She threw back 
the shawl and rubbed her eyes a moment, then she 


THE LETTER. 1 25 

sat up and looked around at the unfamiliar objects, 
then at Mr. Eastman and Carol. 

She surely had seen that face before. 

She arose to her feet, and the movement drew 
her attention to the mirror, and her eyes wandered 
as Carol’s had done from the reflection to the 
strangely familiar features. 

Mr. Eastman looked from one to the other, and 
a glad expression crept over his sad face. 

Carol laid her hand on her father’s arm and 
whispered : 

“ Papa, who is this?” 

He stroked her hair fondly, and turning to the 
puzzled girl, he asked her name. 

“ Marfa, sir.” 

How like Carol’s the voice sounded. 

“You have another name, child. What is it?” 

At first she made no reply,* but when he ques- 
tioned her in his gentle way, she told him all she 
knew. 

Her deep sleep had shut out for a time the re- 
membrance of her great sorrow, but the telling of 
her story brought it all back again, and when she 
told of the events of the night before, she broke 
completely down. 

“ Uncle Jake can tell you the rest,” she managed 
to make him understand between her sobs. 

“Poor Uncle Jake,” she cried, “do please take 
me to him, sir.” 


126 


MARFA. 


He stroked her hair, his face beaming with that 
strange expression, which was altogether new to 
Carol, and a little twinge of jealousy shot through 
her mind, when she noticed how fondly his fingers 
lingered among the brown curls, so like her own. 
A few half angry tears rolled down her cheeks 
when he asked her to go to her room, and taking 
the strange girl by the hand led her away. 

Jake was stretched out on a cot, the long slant- 
ing rays, which came in through an open window 
from the rising sun, resting on his face. 

Marfa knelt down by his bed and whispered: 

“ Uncle Jake.’’ He gave a little start and mut- 
tered : 

“I hearn my angel den,” Again she spoke: 

“ Uncle Jake, don’t you know me?” 

He picked the bed clothes with his fingers, and 
stared at her vacantly. 

“Yes, honey, I knows you. I knows you’s dar, 
but a black curtain hangs afore my poor ole eyes 
an’ shuts you out.” 

“Poor Uncle Jake,” she moaned, “what shall I 
do when you are gone?” 

Mr, Eastman placed his hand on her bowed 
head and reminded her of his errand. 

She looked at him in a dazed way, and then she 
placed the limp hand on the bed cover, and walked 
to the window that faced the rising sun. 


THE LETTER. 1 27 

Mr, Eastman bent over the dying man and 
questioned him about the girl. 

He picked the bed clothes fiercely when he first 
heard the strange voice, but he grew calmer when 
Mr. Eastman spoke of her friendless condition, and 
at last he reluctantly confessed. 

“ Mumsy’s got de letta’ what come from Heaven 
wid de angel.” 

Mr. Eastman could learn no more, and he went 
out, leaving the strange pair together, the one at 
the end of the path awaiting the dreaded summons, 
the other on the brow of the hill under a cloud of 
mystery. 

He visited the prisoners, but they could tell him 
little more than he already knew. Joe said: 

“ I don’ no where Jake found’ de gal. I know 
he make fool of heemself ’bout ’er. He don’ care for 
beezness or noting. All de time he talk ’bout dat 
gal. May be when you go on de leetle house in de 
grove, de ole black woman, she tole you sumting.” 

Mike grumbled when he was awakened and 
ordered to bring the carriage. 

“Be jabers an’ its rather an airly ride they’re 
after taking What wid de bringin’ in of the 
shmugglers, an’ the nise of the storm, it’s hardly 
a wink of slape I’ve had through all the night, an’ 
now they do be draggin’ me out of bed afore the 
sun is hardly showin’ itself.” 


128 


MARFA. 


Mr. Eastman took his seat in the carriage with 
that new strange look still on his face. 

The trees sparkled with the trembling rain drops, 
and the glassy idver gave no sign of the tragedy 
that had stained its bosom the night before. 

When they reached the grove they saw a black 
face, under a red turban, peeping through a space 
between the rails of the fence. 

Mumsy stepped through an open gateway, and 
shading her eyes from the bright sun with her out- 
spread hand, she awaited their coming. 

When she was told of Jake’s misfortune, she 
said : 

“I knowed it, I knowed it. I felt it in my 
bones, I’se dun shuah when I hea’ dat shootin’ if 
any one’s gwine ter git hit, Jake’s de one to cotch 
it,” and she brushed a tear impatiently aside, as if 
she were ashamed of the weakness, and listened to 
Mr. Eastman’s errand. 

When he mentioned the letter she grew uneasy, 
and turned away as if to leave him, but he placed 
his hand on her arm while he said a few words in a 
low tone. 

She looked at him in deep thought for a moment, 
then she led the way to the cabin. 

She lifted the faded cushion from the rocking 
chair that had served Marfa for a cradle. The 
thick wooden bottom gave no sign of the secret it 
contained. 


THE LETTER. 


129 


With a sharp pointed knife she pried out a thin, 
square piece of wood, which was neatly fitted in, 
and formed the cover to the cavity that held the 
precious letter. 

It was yellow and crumpled, but Mr, Eastman 
learned something from the scrawl that gave new 
life to the bent shoulders and bowed head. 

He assisted the portly Mumsy into the carriage, 
and giving Mike orders to return to the hotel, he 
seated himself opposite to her. 

“ Quare doin’s, these be,” said Mike, “ when 
the master takes the likes' of that in the carriage. ’ 


CHAPTER XIX. 


REVENGE 


“ Please take me to Jake, Massa,” said Mumsy, 
when Mike opened the carriage door. 

Marfa met her pale and tearless, and led the 
way to the low cot, where the white spread followed 
the outlines of the rigid form, then fell away to the 
floor in stiff folds. 

She turned it carefully back, and they gazed for 
a moment at the familiar features. Then she 
touched the black cheek and drew her hand away 
with a shudder. 

“ What makes him so cold, Mumsy ? ” she 
whispered, and the picture of the pet fawn and her 
first experience with death, came into her mind 
with startling distinctness. 

Mumsy took her by the hand and led her to Mr, 
Eastman, 

“ Go, honey, wid dis good Massa. I’se gwine 
come bime-by,” 

Marfa followed him, in a mechanical way, out 
into the bright morning. 


130 


REVENGE, 


* 3 * 

He took her to Carol’s room and sent for his 
daughter. She came rushing in flushed and ex- 
cited. 

She drew back at first, and that jealous twinge 
again wrenched her heart, when she saw the stranger 
seated in her favorite chair by her father’s side, but 
when he arose and left the morning kiss on her fore- 
head, just as he always did, she almost forgot it. 

The sad face and drooping figure touched her 
heart, and her eyes went from it to her father’s face 
for an explanation. 

He beckoned her into the corridor, and while 
stroking her hair in the old familiar way, he said. 

u I shall leave her with you for a short time. 
Be kind to her, my child, I am sure you will never 
regret it.” 

The friends of the family were surprised when 
they received a note from Mr. Eastman that morn- 
ing inviting them to meet him in the reception room 
at a certain hour. 

They were comparing notes, and moving rest- 
lessly about the room long before the appointed 
hour, so interested were they in the doings of this 
mysterious family. 

But when Mr. Eastman entered with his daughter 
and the stranger they were seated, awaiting him in 
silence. 

Carol wore a dainty morning dress of white, 
fastened at the neck and waist with pink ribbons. 


132 


MARFA. 


The stranger was dressed in a gray woolen, 
fashioned by Mumsy’s clumsy hands. 

“ Such a contrast,” they whispered to each 
other. 

But when they looked at the faces they forgot the 
dress. The resemblance was startling. 

The brown waving hair, the expressive eyes, 
and the rounded, dimpled chins, were the same. 

Mr. Eastman gave them seats, and then stood 
behind them, with a hand resting protectingly on 
either head. 

His face wore a new expression, and his bowed 
head was lifted. He looked into the questioning 
faces a moment and then he told them the strange 
story of the mystery which had darkened his life, 
and clouded the mind of his beloved wife. 

The substance of the tale was as follows: 

His home was on the Ocklawaha river, in that 
sunny land which has been called the “Italy of 
America.” 

The house was a large, old fashioned wooden 
structure, with a wide hall running through the 
center, and roomy verandas entirely around it. 
The weather stained clap-boards bore marks of the 
warring winds of ocean and gulf. 

The white sandy road divided it from the river 
bank with its border of great water oaks, draped 
with long gray moss. 


REVENGE, 


*33 


A large garden spread out behind it, shaded 
and darkened by the thick growth of oaks, ti-ti, and 
umbrella trees. 

The swinging moss gave the place so ghostly an 
appearance that the superstitious negroes could 
hardly be driven to enter it after dark. 

Here he brought his young bride, and here was 
born to them a pair of twin daughters. Carol and 
Yula, they called them. 

The resemblance between them was so strong, 
that the mother, at times, was unable to distinguish 
them. They were cared for by the same black 
aunty who had nursed their mother in childhood. 

The nursery opened on the back veranda, and 
looked out on the shaded garden. ’Twas here that 
aunty brought her pretty charges in the cool of the 
evening, and swung them in the hammock, or, with 
one on either arm, paced back and forth, and 
crooned the cradle melodies with which she had 
soothed their mother’s baby days. 

Her bosom would expand and her face wear a 
proud look when the servants gathered in the 
garden path below her, and begged for a look at 
the “ pritty honeys.” 

On the first anniversary of their birth the proud 
parents sent out invitations to a fete, in honor of 
the occasion. The verands and gardens were ablaze 
with light, and the whole house resounded with 
music and happy voices. 


134 


MARFA. 


Of course the little daughters were the center of 
attraction, and aunty bore them proudly from group 
to group, fairly trembling with pride, as she listened 
to the words of admiration that were showered 
upon them. 

When their bed time arrived she took them to 
the nursery and tucked them in their crib. Their 
rosy cheeks nestled close together, and their dimpled 
arms encircled each other’s necks. 

Aunty gazed at them with a smile on her shin- 
ing face, and carried the picture in her mind when 
she left them to eat her s, upper with the servants. 

When she returned the. little Yula was missing. 
The tiny hollow in the pillow was still warm. 

She gave the alarm, and in a short time the 
sounds of merriment and music had ceased, and the 
sympathizing friends had organized themselves into 
searching parties. But the dark grove and moss- 
shaded river border made the escape of the kid- 
napper an easy matter. 

The morning brought no tidings of the missing 
one. The bereaved mother was prostrated, and for 
the time was happily unconscious of her loss. 

Old aunty held her remaining treasure closely 
in her arms, and paced back and forth on the 
veranda, scolding the weeping servants, and send- 
ing them here and there in the vain search. 

A scrap of the white wool cloak, which had 


REVENGE. 


135 


been taken from the hook, where it hung beside its 
mate, was found near the river shore, fluttering 
from a projecting twig. 

The small boat which was usually drawn out on 
the sand, and fastened to a tree, was missing. Days 
passed and no tidings were received of the lost 
child. 

It was remembered, long afterward, when there 
was more time for sober thought, that a field hand, 
named Tom, had disappeared about the same time. 
He had been punished by his master the day before 
the fete, but no particular attention had been given 
to this fact at the time. 

Large rewards were offered and many clues 
were traced out that ended in disappointment. 

Years rolled around and the fate of the missing 
Yula was still a mystery. 

The mother’s mind had partially given away, 
and the father bent beneath the double sorrow, but 
he never entirely lost hope. 

The little twin daughter had grown to woman- 
hood in ignorance of the cruel deed that had de- 
prived her of her mate. 

At this point in his story Mr. Eastman paused, 
drew from his pocket a crumpled piece of paper 
and spread it on his hand. 

“ Let me read this to you,” he said, after ex- 
plaining how it came into his possession. 

The large, sprawling letters were printed with 


136 


MARFA. 


faded red ink, and the words were misspelled and 
awkward. On one side was Mr. Eastman’s address, 
and on the other was the following: 

“Massa Eseman lick nigga Tom, Nigga Tom 
steal lille gal.” 


































































































































“Florida.” 


« 


CHAPTER XX. 


GIRLIE. 


Two years, with their joys and sorrows, had 
rolled away, 

Again the southern team, with the liveried 
coachman, pranced up the driveway that led to the 
stables. 

And again a family party left the river steamer 
and came up the walk to the hotel entrance. 

But what a change time had made in the appear- 
ance of some of the party. 

Mr, Eastman had lost the sad expression and 
drooping shoulders, while his wife’s face beamed 
with intelligence and happiness. 

Mr. and Mrs. Roe Mason came next, and he 
looked in her face and smiled significantly when 
they passed by the alcove, where they had parted, 
after their stormy interview. 

Marfa, or Yula as we must now call her, walked 
by Mumsy’s side, silent and sad. Her thoughts 
wandered back to that eventful night, and the whole 
scene rose before her with startling distinctness. 

139 


140 


MARFA. 


Behind them all was Hanna, grumbling as she 
trudged along, carrying the shawls and wraps, 
which had been forgotten by the excited party. 

When all were quietly settled down for the rest 
that the long journey made necessary, Mumsy and 
Yula stole away unobserved. 

They followed the winding road until they 
reached the steps that led from the street to the top 
of the board fence, and then down again into the 
little cemetery. 

Mumsy led the way among the moss-covered 
slabs and sunken graves, to a quiet, shady corner. 

“ Here it is, honey,” she said, pausing by the side 
of a neatly rounded, grassy mound, “ but — but,” she 
continued, stepping backward, while a look of aston- 
ishment overspread her face, “ chile, I’se like ter 
know what dis means,” and she pointed to the tall 
marble shaft that bore this simple tribute : 

UNCLE JAKE. 

“Blessed are the Pure in Heart” 

U I spec’ dat’s some moah of de good massa’s 
work,” she said, rubbing her hand over the polished 
surface. 

Yula’s thoughts were a confused mingling of 
gratitude for the kind parent who had been restored 
to her, and regrets for the loss of her childhood’s 
protector. 

She gathered the long-stemmed daisies that 


GIRLIE. 


I 4 I 

grew among the tangled grass by the fence, and 
scattered them over the grave, and the tears that 
fell on the golden-hearted blossoms sparkled in the 
beams from the setting sun. 

The following morning, when the dawn was 
tinting the new day with a rosy hue, Yula drew the 
key from her pocket and unlocked the boat-house 
door. 

She had selected a boat the night before, and 
now while her friends were enjoying their morning 
nap, she launched the tiny white craft, with its soft 
cushions of green plush, and slipping the slender 
green oars into the rowlocks, she started up the 
river. 

Before she left her southern home, she had gained 
her father’s reluctant permission that she should 
make her first visit to the grove, alone. 

The soft, misty waves of fog were rising in 
graceful wreaths, and melting away among the rosy- 
tinted clouds. 

The gray gulls floated over her head, occasionally 
darting downward, and dipping their black-tipped 
wings in the cool water. 

Faster and faster the boat sped on. The oars 
rose and fell with an even movement. 

Her thoughts flew to the familiar cove long be- 
fore she saw its inviting shade. She could hardly 
bear to wait, so impatient did she grow. 


142 


MARFA. 


But when she saw the grove point, and she drew 
near the spot, the oars moved slower. 

How familiar it all looked — that long stretch of 
sandy bench, where every curve was stamped by 
some particular incident of her childhood. 

She could almost fancy she saw the honest face 
of Uncle Jake, smiling at her from that clump of 
alder bushes. 

She turned the boat into the cove, and fastened 
it to the old tree on the bank. 

Then, with a feeling as if she were walking in a 
dream, she followed the familiar path up the hill to 
the road. 

Before her was the little cabin, half hid among 
the trees. As she approached the door a super- 
stitious shiver ran through her veins, when she 
heard a slight shuffling movement, accompanying a 
strange grating sound. 

She was at first half tempted to turn around, 
and run to the boat, then her courage returned, and 
she entered the cabin. 

A dozen wooly heads were raised from the 
trough filled with yellow corn, and a dozen pair of 
eyes met her own with a mild stare. 

She smiled at the up-turned faces, and then 
glancing around the room she saw a man, seated on 
a block of wood, in a corner of the crumbling fire- 
place. 


GIRLIE. 


T 43 


He looked lip from his work when her shadow 
fell across it. He was shaping an ax-handle with a 
jack-knife and a piece of glass. 

“My goodness, little gal! You make me scare. 
How you come on de shanty an’ I no see you?’’ 
and our old friend, French Joe, arose hurriedly, 
letting the wood and tools fall to the floor among 
the fine shavings, while the frightened sheep scamp- 
ered through the doorway, and began nibbling the 
grass. 

As Yula took the outstretched hand, she felt 
that here was one humble link that connected her 
present life with the eventful past ; and she heard for 
the first time how her father’s influence and money 
* had saved her friends from a term of years in 
prison, 

“ I don carry no more dat stuff, after poor ole 
Jake git shot,” and Joe slowly shook his head. 
“Dat’s bad beezness. I stay on de place here, an’ 
min’ de cow an’ de sheep. Den de sheriff-man he 
don watch for me.” 

When she left him he was testing the coins, 
which she had dropped in his hand, in his usual 
manner. 

Then she followed the winding path through 
the clump of low pines, until she reached the cleared 
spot that surrounded the old ivy-draped house. 

She looked around in astonishment. Could she 
have mistaken the path? No! There was the 


H4 


MARFA, 


familiar river scenery, and the little log house, with 
the ancient village just below it, on the opposite 
shore. 

But where were the ivy-draped walls and the 
dormer window? 

A gnarled old tree — 

A sunken spot — 

Some bits of broken glass; 

A few gray stones, 

And white-washed bricks, 

Scattered among the grass. 

That was all ! 

She turned away, and the tears rolled down her 
flushed cheeks. 

How often in the past two years had her thoughts 
strayed away from happy home surroundings, and 
loving friends, to this well remembered spot. 

How often in her dreams had she pushed the 
trailing ivy aside, entered the door, and climbed the 
rickety stairs that led to the library. 

She had hardly realized it until now — but her 
solitary morning visit had been planned that she 
might enter the library alone, sit down in the little 
chair before the dormer window, and with the book 
on the desk before her, imagine she heard the voice 
of her beloved teacher repeat the pet name — Girlie, 

She walked slowly toward the cove, A wall 
seemed to have arisen between her and the past. 
She would go back to that new life and strive for 
forgetfulness. 


GIRLIE. 


H5 

She saw the leafy arbor, where she had watched 
and listened for the sound of the midnight bell, that 
fateful night. 

A tall figure arose as she came opposite the 
entrance. 

A familiar face looked down on her. 

Two pair of eyes met and the sweet secret 
escaped from the open windows of the soul. 

A familiar voice repeated the pet name. 

“ Girlie, I have waited for you. I knew you 
would come.” 

u Oh ! Master Payne ! ” was the glad cry. 


THE END. 



Hugh Macdonald. 
Geo. S., Macdonald. 


A. W. WRTOTIT. SfECIAL. 


J. IL Lancashire. 
Chas. F. Rich. ' 


tflfjacbonalb j0ros. & C° 

201 Woodward Avenue. 


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V V 


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Tile Hearths and Floors. SHOP, 45 Rowland Street. 

DETROIT, MICHIGAN. 

If You Want 

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'THE COMMERCIAL ADVERTISER PUB. 00. 

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